


Precious (the Queen of Diamonds Redub)

by feralphoenix



Series: Dum Spiro Spero [1]
Category: Yggdra Union
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Assisted Suicide, Gen, Implied Relationships, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charisma, kindness, and a strong desire to befriend the people around you will take you far in life. These things give Yggdra just as much strength as do justice and the Gran Centurio--maybe even more so.</p><p>After all, she can be awfully determined about making friends with everybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diamonds and Dross

**Author's Note:**

> The [original story](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3920354/1/Precious) ran from late 2007 to mid-2008. This version has been heavily rewritten both to brush up the old prose and to edit for canon compliance.

Milanor crouched down along the scrub lining the canyon, peering down into the darkness and focusing his hearing. When he smacked the bones of his knees on naked rock the urge to swear out loud was strong, but he battened it down just in case.

So far it didn’t seem like there were any more Imperial troops lying in wait out here. This was good—they’d been able to handle that Inzaghi and his motley collection of sad sacks just fine, but if those Imperial knights had been able to reach them they’d’ve been fucked, plain and simple. He’d lucked out and Kylier had been there to back him up, but he couldn’t always depend on her busybody instincts to keep her literally hovering over him. With only a handful of his flunkies still alive—plus one pitifully inexperienced noble girl as a tagalong—the next fight they got into could very well be their last.

Hopefully they’d reach the border into Orlando soon. If the princess was telling the truth, her army’d be close then, and they’d get backup.

Until then it was important—tedious, but important—to have to scout around ahead to know if there was anyone in the thief band’s path that it’d be best to avoid. And tonight it was Milanor’s turn.

Fidgeting with impatience, the Silver Wolf peeked around once more. No sound, no light, no flashes that could be moonlight on armor: The coast was clear. Satisfied, he stood up, hissing and stamping his feet. Middle of spring though it was, the Norn wastelands were bitter cold at night this time of year. It almost made Milanor miss Lost Aries. Life there wasn’t any less miserable or anything, but at least he could go out at night without chancing the loss of any body parts to frostbite.

Least now he could retreat to camp, where a modest campfire and his bedroll would be waiting. It was no old fort—there’d be no protection from the wind—but it’d be something.

He missed his fort.

“This sucks,” Milanor informed the wind. Being an antisocial fucker, the wind didn’t reply. The young thief shuffled through loose gravel for the hell of it, pulled low to the ground, and headed towards his camp in a lazy canter over the hard-packed dirt and stone.

The sight that awaited him there was so out-of-place and funny, though, he came to a halt quick enough to kick up dust.

His battered, scruffy flunkies—or some kinda ghouls that looked just like them, because Milanor was pretty damn sure he’d trained his boys better than this—were sitting in a half-circle around the fire like a pack of polite hunting dogs. Balanced over the middle of the fire was the largest pot in their collective store of dented crockery. And plopped in the center of his boys’ half-circle like the highest point of a tiara, sleeves rolled up as she leaned over the pot and stirred it lightly, was Princess Yggdra.

_Diamonds and dross. And also, the fuck?_ Milanor approached with caution, shaking his head. Then he said it out loud. “’Scuse me for bein’ crass, your ladyship, but what the fuck?”

Yggdra beamed up at him. If she was bothered by his language, he couldn’t see it on her face. “Everyone is hungry, and we had more than enough supplies for a little potato soup. I’m sure this will warm everyone right up!”

The flunky on Yggdra’s right grinned, gap-toothed, up at Milanor. “You ain’t gotta worry, Boss. The fire’s too small t’be seen outside a’ here, an’ the wind’s blowin’ all the steam to bits afore it can give us away.”

“Well.” Milanor raised his eyebrows and scratched his head, then sat down across from Yggdra. Only one thing to do when you can’t beat ‘em. “I guess it’s fine, then. It _has_ been awhile since we got to eat somethin’ warm.”

And whatever it was that the princess was cooking sure did smell good. That was a surprise. Milanor doubted that any of the overseer border nobles cooked their own meals. He’d thought that all nobles were probably like that, never raising a hand to take care of themselves, no idea how common folk lived and with no appreciation of hard work. But then, Yggdra was a decent hand with her oversized sword too, and that had to be more than just instinct and desperation. Maybe some gold-braided noble ninny had been behind her lessons, but learning to fence took actual sweat. And she was inexperienced in real combat for sure, but she didn’t squeak and stutter about drawing her enemies’ blood.

“The head chef at the castle taught me a little cooking and baking when I was a girl,” Yggdra explained as she stirred. Milanor wondered if his train of thought showed on his face, but she wasn’t looking up. She just kept stirring with single-minded intensity. “My uncle—not really my uncle, I suppose, but one of the members of the royal cabinet who had always doted on me as if he were my real uncle—he complained that it was beneath my station, but my father approved of it. He said that it would build character, and teach me appreciation of my people. And our chef made me learn from simple things onward, even when I was too small and silly to know that I couldn’t just leap into making subtleties and grand feasts.” The smile she had worn telling the story went flat. “…The knights said that many of the nobles were killed in the coup, but I hope that my uncle Alanjame is all right. The chef and his helpers, too.”

Milanor scratched his chin and grimaced. “They say Imperial soldiers don’t bother civilians. Chin up, you may get to see your chef buddy again someday soon.”

Yggdra nodded. “I certainly hope so.” She raised her head and looked around at the circle of her companions. “It’s ready now. May I have bowls for everyone, please?”

There was a great rummaging around in packs, and a veritable thicket of chipped bowls surrounded Yggdra. It made her laugh. Milanor fought the urge to sigh and let his shoulders slump. Every kid in his band of followers swore when they’d joined him that the nobility would get nothing out of them but hate and distrust, but these poor saps were too excited about food to be wary.

Then again, Yggdra was about as dusty and dirty as everyone else here. She was just pastier, and her clothes were made from nicer cloth, that was all.

Yggdra served all the thieves, Milanor included, before filling a bowl for herself. The boys started scarfing down their hot meal right away; Milanor smelled his and blew the steam away before having a taste. It was good—savory, like—and the potatoes made the broth thick.

_She is the weirdest noble I’ve ever seen._ Milanor watched Yggdra over the rim of his bowl with a critical eye. She wasn’t eating yet, instead watching the thieves—maybe to gauge their reactions. _Maybe it’s just because she’s got nowhere else to turn and she’s grateful we took her up on her offer. But she doesn’t look like we’re shit she stepped in even when she doesn’t think we’re watching. Maybe even nobles whelp one good pup in a dozen litters._

“I made enough for seconds, so please eat more,” Yggdra said, smiling like a saint in a painting.

_Maybe she’s just an idiot,_ Milanor thought as his boys all held their bowls out at her again. When she turned that beatific smile on him, he grinned back. He had nothing against idiots, being as he was the leader of a whole pack of them.

 

 

“I’m on for the first watch, so all y’all go on ahead and get some sleep,” Milanor instructed. “We’re gonna be up and moving at dawn, ‘cause Orlando’s not far from here. I’ll wake one of you up and we’ll take the night in shifts of a coupla hours at a time. Got it?”

“Yes, Boss,” the thieves chorused, and then set about undoing their bedrolls in a circle around the fire. Milanor stood and stretched, watching them curl up and wink out like lights. He noted that Yggdra was still sitting by the fire, looking up at the night sky.

“It’s amazing,” she said at length. Again, she didn’t look down to spot Milanor’s gaze on her. Either she always assumed that people wanted to hear her talk, or she was sensitive to being looked at. “I’ve always lived in the city, and there are always lights on there even at night, so I’ve never seen the stars this clearly before. There are so many more of them here, it’s beautiful.”

Milanor glanced up at the sea of black flecked with white and yellow dots above, then shrugged. It was just the sky, nothing special.

More importantly, a noble girl like Yggdra couldn’t be expected to take care of herself out in the world properly, so he had to do it for her. Sure, he was sticking with her because he was going to get a new base out of it, but he was the boss of this band of thieves. No boss worth their shit let a flunky run herself into the ground. “Yo, you can stare into space some other time. You gotta sleep right now. If you’re tired, you won’t be able to keep up. Especially if we get into a battle. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but there’s only a handful of my boys left. We need you fightin’ on the front lines or we’re all in trouble. And you gotta take care of yourself if you wanna build up your strength to get your city back.”

Yggdra narrowed her eyes and looked down at her hands. “Really, I’ll be all right.” 

“Like shit,” Milanor said simply. “Look, everybody here’s lost family and friends. We’ve all felt what you’re feelin’. You’re frustrated and you feel powerless. But there’s people who’re dependin’ on you back home, right? What’s the sense in torturin’ yourself, then? There’s only one of you. If anythin’ happens to you, nobody’s gonna stand up for your townsfolk.

“Look, like—if the way you been behavin’ around me and the boys is genuine, I got no doubt that you love your people. But to do right by them, you gotta do right by yourself too. Maybe nobody’s taught you that before, but I’m tellin’ you right now. If I started not sleepin’ or whatever because of my dead flunkies, my boys who’re alive’d go to pieces. It just ain’t practical. Here, where we’re poor, we learn early that if we don’t look out for ourselves and our kith and kin, we ain’t gonna survive.

“It’s okay to feel sad about your parents, Yggdra. It’s okay to worry about the people you knew. But you can’t do anything unless you’re fit to fight, your own self. Until you understand that, you can’t be the boss. So you think on what I said, ‘cause I really don’t think any fancy-ass knights are gonna be so all-fired enthused about obeying gutter scum like me.”

Yggdra giggled some, went red in the face, and giggled more. “Milanor, you shouldn’t call yourself gutter scum.”

“Why not? I’m scum from the gutter and you fucking bet I’m proud of it.” Milanor crouched down to grin at Yggdra at eye level. “So, being as you’re still learning how to be a boss, and I’m still handin’ out orders ‘til you’re ready, you oughtta listen to me when I’m tryin’ to look after you.”

Yggdra smiled again, calmer now. “I suppose that only makes sense. I’m sorry for being self-centered and causing trouble for you.”

“Nobody who cooks stew for gutter scum is self-centered,” Milanor said. “And the trouble here is you’re worrying about everybody else too much to worry about yourself. _And_ if you’re sorry about causing trouble, be good and listen to me.”

At last, Yggdra nodded.

“Use my bedroll like before. I’ll just kick the next watch guy outta his.”

Very carefully, Yggdra undid the ties that held Milanor’s bedroll together, then laid it out in what open space there was between her and the next thief. Next, she reached behind her for her oversized sword and laid it next to the pelt-lined bag, within easy reach. Milanor nodded in approval. If nothing else, Yggdra sure did learn fast. After the way he and the boys had found her, he doubted she’d ever let herself get caught defenseless again.

“Goodnight,” Yggdra said a little self-consciously, taking off her little white shoes and navigating the huge mass of her skirts into the bedroll.

“’Night,” Milanor replied with an easy grin. “At least try to have some good dreams.”

Yggdra gave a small nod and closed her eyes, shifting with a sigh. Within about fifteen minutes, her breathing had evened out and she was dead to the world, making sleepy noises into her covers.

Milanor let out a light snort. Yeah, he’d figured as much. Even if she was too bent out of shape worrying to appreciate it, she was _tired._ He wouldn’t have any trouble keeping her there tonight.

As he watched, Yggdra frowned a little and wiggled down into the warmth of the bedroll, her thin brows knitted and creased. “…Father…”

Milanor rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin on the heel of his hand. When all was said and done, she was still a kid. She was a kid who’d had a lot of responsibilities dumped into her lap, and she’d have many, many more cares by the time all this was through.

“I can’t bring your old man back, but I _can_ help you save your city,” he told her, though he knew she wouldn’t hear. “You’re offerin’ us a roof to put over our heads, and that’s more than anyone else would ever do. I’ve got your back, so you just keep grinnin’ like an idiot while you can. It’s okay to stay a dumb kid for a little while longer.”

Yggdra turned over again, somehow managing to avoid rolling to either side in the fur-and-fleece bag. Milanor smiled and shook his head, then looked up at the sky.

Stars. He bit his lip so that he wouldn’t laugh out loud. Now wasn’t that just like a city kid, to make such a fuss out of plain old stars?


	2. A Lady's Favor

It was his first lesson as to what it truly meant to be a knight of the Kingdom, and he would never forget it.

It had been the very peak of summer, and all of Paltina had turned out for the tournament, an annual exhibition of the realm’s finest knights and their prowess. Durant was young to be competing in such a publicized event. But then again, amongst all the young knights his age, he’d always trained the hardest, been the most disciplined. Hence, his knight-masters had decided that he be allowed to try his mettle a year early.

For a boy of nineteen who had always practiced arms in solitude or in the group drills of his classes, the sheer number of people and the noise they made was bewildering. The stands were filled with chattering, cheering civilians, waving the flags of their fiefdoms as knights walked their horses around the sand pit, strutting and joking, and the squires ran to clear away droppings and set up the lance games.

Up at the northern end of the stadium, seated much higher than the commoners and even the gentry, was the royal family: The brightly shining king and queen and their little daughter, the twelve-year-old princess. For some reason, the image was particularly striking to Durant then—Ordene and his wife were conversing back and forth, both smiling, looking like any other middle-aged couple relaxing and enjoying the day, and their daughter was tugging on her father’s sleeve, pointing down at the knights and waving at them, clearly excited. Durant would later learn that this was Princess Yggdra’s first tournament, as well; her parents had sheltered her from even this playacted form of violence for as long as they could.

Because he was young and inexperienced, Durant was allowed to sit out of most of the lance games—he was here, after all, to see and learn and understand how these things were done. He watched with the others who’d chosen to rest and cheered as his masters and older friends chased tiny, light targets with their swords and lances, and were rewarded for their successes by applause and flowers thrown down by the queen’s ladies.

Eventually, because the older knights were giving him a good ribbing for standing slack-jawed like some yellow-bellied pup instead of going and trying out his still-green lance, Durant ventured out onto the field for the last challenge. To say that he was nervous would have been a gross understatement; inside his gauntlets his hands were cold and sweaty, and all he heard was the roaring of the crowd was a dim buzz against the thunder of his pulse. All the same, he gently coaxed his charger, a sweet brown gelding with a blond blaze down his face and flecks of the same color on his hocks, to the line of knights, and waited his turn.

When it came and he urged his mount forward, he was so rushed in getting his lance down that he missed the first target completely, then was shaking so much in fear and humiliation that he missed the second as well. But he claimed the last three, the small ribbon-adorned rings of wood sliding down to the broad base of his lance.

Breathing deeply and trying to still his pounding heart and the slight quiver of his lance as his arm shook, Durant moved his horse at a light walk towards the end of the stands to collect his favors. This wasn’t so bad, then, he tried to convince himself. Look here; it was the same as practice, and nervous or not, he’d gotten three. It wasn’t such a thing to fuss over, truly.

Still, as the squires slid the rings off his lance and he reached out to catch the three flowers the ladies of status tossed down to him, Durant quaked like a leaf.

Quickly, he glanced around to see what the other knights were doing with their favors. Some were tossing them to pretty girls in the stands (Durant frowned a little at their wantonness; knights were supposed to treat women with _chivalry,_ not constantly advertise for a roll in the hay); others were handing them off to squires. Durant put the first two flowers in one of the minute gaps in the leather of his horse’s saddle, and was about to slot the third beside them when he saw a poor family sitting in the front of the stands. One of the children, a girl who couldn’t even have been six, was looking at him out of incredibly solemn blue eyes; feeling charmed and a little compelled, he gently edged his horse to the crowd and held it out to her. She giggled and clapped and accepted it, showing it off to her parents, who both laughed a little. Feeling foolish but as though he’d done a good thing, Durant returned to the lines of knights beginning to gather before the royal couple.

At first Durant didn’t understand quite what they were doing, but a knight near him whom he didn’t know but obviously realized he was new elbowed him slightly and pointed up to the king and queen unobtrusively.

“It’s custom at this time in the tournament for the royal champion to be chosen,” he explained in a half-whisper. “Since it’s the Princess’ first tournament, it seems Their Majesties are letting her pick. It’s a ceremonial position, and traditionally whoever’s chosen has to fight the real King’s Champion. It’s an honor, but one I don’t envy whoever they choose.”

Durant nodded a little and thanked the man.

The King’s Champion was proud, skilled, and heavy-handed even in practice. It was common knowledge but never spoken of—gossip and rumors ill befit knights—that the man was a bit of a bully, but he had served at King Ordene’s shoulder in many a battle, and the late King Belganathos before him. He had gained his position by saving the king in a battle with the western barbarians en route to Ordene’s coronation, years ago. So while the Champion was feared and avoided, he was also respected to the point of worship.

Even Durant, who had always admired the tales of Bly the strategist more than the stories of Fantasinia’s sheer brute strength, had watched the Champion’s power and finesse with awe more than once. It was as his senior knight had said: Just doing battle with the Champion would be a great honor, but whoever would be chosen would have no chance of winning, and further risked public humiliation if the Champion was feeling mean. Durant wouldn’t envy the princess’ pick, either.

He watched as King Ordene gravely and quietly explained to Princess Yggdra what she was expected to do, and as the young girl nodded solemnly as he finished each sentence. Her mother passed her a length of cloth trimmed with lace and printed in what Durant thought was a floral pattern; he was too far away to accurately see.

Finally, the king gestured out to Durant and the other knights, surely indicating that she should make her pick. Princess Yggdra looked out at all of them with very round eyes, then shyly pointed and whispered to her father. Ordene’s mustache rose at either corner and the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes crinkled, and he beckoned the herald over, speaking to him for a moment. The herald nodded, then walked over to speak to the marshal, who said something very brief. Now having whatever information it was that he needed, the herald headed back out to where he’d been standing.

“Sir Durant, step forward.”

Durant gawped.

A few seconds later, he flinched and realized how rude he must seem, and looked around to the other knights pleadingly. They were all staring at him with upraised, expectant eyebrows.

Durant stared back at them helplessly, then hesitantly nudged his horse forward into an obedient—and altogether too sprightly—walk. Within a few heartbeats, they were standing right at the start of the stands, and Durant was giving the herald that same uncertain stare.

“Offer your lance, Sir Durant,” the herald prompted, looking amused. Durant hid a growl—he did not like the way this man seemed to be having fun at his expense—and hefted his weapon. Its tip just reached the railing surrounding the royal section.

The king and princess stood, father quietly instructing his daughter all the way. Princess Yggdra very carefully wrapped her length of cloth around Durant’s lance tip and tied it, then stepped back. Durant didn’t need to be told what to do this time; he stepped back and lowered his lance as the simple royal favor slid down to its base. As a squire came running across the packed sand bearing the padded coromanel tip that would be fitted to Durant’s lance, he undid its tie and refastened it behind the rounded grip of the weapon, wrapping it tightly just above his hand.

“You and the Champion will make jousting passes at each other until one or the other of you is unhorsed,” the squire said in a businesslike manner as he put the padded tip on. “At that time, you will continue the battle afoot, choosing whichever weapons you please. Combat will continue until one of you is knocked down and does not stand by the count of fifteen. Good luck.” With his job done, he retreated back to the stands; Durant saw that the fencing had been set out for the joust.

As he walked his horse forward, Durant glanced over his shoulder. The other knights had also taken up positions to watch and were talking and laughing back and forth. The king had taken his seat again, but Princess Yggdra was still standing at the railing, watching curiously and eagerly. When she saw him looking, she waved at him, smiling brightly.

Durant felt his face go scarlet, but hefted his lance in a tiny, shy salute that made her laugh.

 _What do I think I’m doing?_ he wondered desperately, and took his place.

He and the King’s Champion saluted each other and readied their lances, then leveled them at each other. At the herald’s trumpet fanfare, both their horses thundered forward.

Durant barely had the time to brace himself before the impact, and was left gasping with it. The Champion’s strike shoved him up against the high back of his tilting saddle, his shield side nearly numb with agony and his lance arm aching. Already the Champion was turning back around. Durant kneed his mount back into place, but knew with an awful feeling of dread that he was hopelessly outclassed—there was no way he was going to win this.

Over the course of the second charge, he gritted his teeth and tried to slide his lance down under the Champion’s shield to try to pop him anyway, only to have the wood break into several pieces. By the time he reached the end of the fence, Durant was reeling in the saddle, listing along his shield, even as squires rushed to replace his lance, even retying the Princess’ favor at the base.

Durant shook out his arms and took a deep breath and then his place, and they thundered forward along the third pass.

This time, he felt the flip as the Champion’s lance hit home, and only had the time to think a curse before he was airborne, still holding his lance. His shield arm twisted, and he heard a faint snap that told him his the bones of his upper arm were cracked. The next second, he twisted so he could take the fall properly and somersaulted along the sand. Dizzy with the pain and helmless—he’d lost it in the drop, he was fairly sure—he carefully removed his shield and shoved his lance tip-first into the sand, shaking it out of his sweaty hair and casting about for the squires with the weapons.

As the Champion started to dismount, Durant made it over to them, and bypassed swords of several sizes, a halberd, an axe, and a morning star for a slim spear. Like all the weapons, its edges were blunted, since this was exhibition combat. But it felt right in his hands, which he shifted along the shaft, trying not to favor his shield arm too obviously as the fencing was carried off and the Champion prowled forward with a mace and chain.

Durant sent up a brief prayer, then ran forward.

The King’s Champion had not gained his pretty title by being unable to gauge his opponent’s weak points. He swept in low, aiming straight for Durant’s injured arm, and Durant had to take an ungainly two-step backwards to avoid having those heavy iron balls wrap around his weapon. But the Champion followed Durant pace for pace and punched straight past his spear to his belly, sending Durant flat onto his back in the sand.

“You had best stay down, boy,” the Champion advised as the crowd gave a unified gasp of horror and delight. Somewhere distant, the herald began his count.

Durant just lay there gasping, dizzy, unable to do any more than struggle vainly for breath. It felt like he had just taken a sandbag to the stomach, and to make things worse, the impact of the fall had done the rest of the work on the fracture in his arm. It wasn’t a bad break by any means, but it was definitely broken, and if he moved around it would risk making it much worse. Adrenaline was taking care of the worst of the pain for now, but by the time he got to the healers it would surely be all he could do not to scream.

Maybe it was best to just do as the Champion said, and submit. He had already lost any glimmer of victory he might have had. He should just spare himself the humiliation, and—

_“Get up!”_

At the desperate cry, Durant and all the spectators turned, wide-eyed. Princess Yggdra was still standing at the rail, and she was clutching it tightly, her deep blue eyes huge with worry and faith.

“Get up! You can do it, I know you can! _Please…!”_

It was Durant’s duty to obey the commands of his sovereign, but it wasn’t duty that had him forcing himself back to his feet with a grunt, leveling his spear and running drunkenly for the Champion’s turned back. He wouldn’t know for a long time what it was that spurred him, but he did know in that moment that her voice had given him the strength to ignore pain and shame and logic. He would fight. He would win. And his victory would be for her.

His first strike caught the Champion in the small of the back. The Champion turned, but Durant swept in low and used his spear as leverage to rip the mace and chain from the Champion’s hands with all the power in his waist and legs. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to untangle their weapons in time to counter the Champion’s next blow, he cast the spear aside entirely. All the strength he had left went into one solid punch straight from the shoulder. His fist connected with the Champion’s jaw, and the Champion toppled backwards to send up a great cloud of sand.

As the sand settled, it was like cotton had been taken out of Durant’s ears. He could hear the crowd cheering. His upper arm tingled and crawled as if with a million itching ants, and there was a hot trickle of—blood probably—underneath his armor and shirt. The world went green, then blue, then gray, and finally he fell so hard to his knees that his teeth clicked together and scraped the inside of his cheek. The last thing he saw before he fainted was the Princess’ shining face.

 

 

It was five years and three months to that impossible victory when the princess and her knight stood in the fields on the border of Orlando, facing away from the camp their party had made.

Yggdra’s attendants were busying themselves teasing Milanor’s surviving thieves into learning how to stitch ripped clothing, while their rough-natured commander was talking tactics to the only three knights in Durant’s cavalry who had survived the Imperial assault. The horses were roaming nearby, content to linger near their humans as they cropped wild grass.

Yggdra herself was staring towards their destination, Embellia—the home of their Undine allies—with very distant eyes. She’d grown. It wasn’t just the years, Durant knew, but the deaths of her parents that had worked this change on her. She stood and watched the border with fierce eyes ringed with bruises, her father’s sword in her hand, and Durant watched her. She was more beautiful than any other woman he had ever known, and more unattainable than the moon and stars.

He knew his place. She was his liege lady, and he her servant. It couldn’t, wouldn’t be, as all his comrades had reminded him uselessly through the years. And besides, it was the point of chivalric love to give one’s heart freely without expecting anything in return. He knew all of that. It didn’t change how he felt about sweating and bleeding to bring her victory. It was more than a duty—more than an ideal—and that would never change.

“Durant,” she said quietly, without preamble, without presumption. His name came easier on her lips than anyone else’s, even her handmaidens, for he had known her longest. The cadence was dearer to him than anything else. “I have a feeling that—the road ahead of us will be a difficult one. I don’t know anything about war. There’s still so much I don’t know. All I have is this vague sense of danger, and of foreboding.”

And it frustrated her, he observed to himself. As it had on that day, knowing her own inexperience made her shy and uncertain. As a leader of a new army with a desperately urgent task, shyness and uncertainty would only hinder her. It was that understanding that vexed her so.

“It’s a lot to ask of you, I know, but there are so few I _can_ ask.” She sighed, looking unhappy. “Durant, please, I need you to teach me everything you know. About tactics, about strategy, about fighting technique. We cannot afford to lose this battle, and if my people are to believe that we can win, I must fight on the front lines. I must avenge my parents’ deaths myself.”

She couldn’t know what she was asking, not the way that Durant did, but she knew the weight of it. Durant looked at her and knew that whether she still believed herself to be or not, she was barely more than a child, and that his teaching her to kill would destroy the last vestiges of that childhood. It would be so hard to take away too early what was hers by right, but—Durant knew he couldn’t send her into the battlefield unknowing. Doing so would mean her death.

So in response, he bowed to her from the waist. “My lady. You have only to ask; my life and my service are yours. When you need to know about the nuances of battle, I shall instruct you. I am your loyal servant, always.”

When he straightened up, he saw that Yggdra was smiling sadly at him.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” she said very softly, and before he could stop her with reminders of propriety, she reached towards him and laid her hand to the faded, bloodstained circle of linen, satin, and lace tied around his upper arm, then her head to his breastplate. “That’s one thing that I doubt will ever change.”

Durant didn’t know what to say. A more disciplined man would push her away, remind her of their difference in rank and status, but he didn’t have the heart. Surely she needed comfort. And petty as it was, it made him happy to be relied upon. So he simply rested a hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes, wishing he could forget everything—the coup d’état, the war, that she was royalty and he a lowly knight—and just cherish the warmth and closeness of the girl he admired so.

But because of what he was, he couldn’t.


	3. Girls' Talk

“Are you sure it’s alright?” the princess was asking a little self-consciously, hesitating in undoing her dress at the waterside. “—To just, like this… I mean…”

“Don’t worry about it,” one of her blue-haired attendants said with an offhand wave. “You spend way too much time running around making sure everything gets done right—just relax a little and let the _guys_ handle it for once. Durant’s watching Milanor; he’s not going to let any of those silly thieves destroy the campsite.”

“Well, I suppose…” Still, Yggdra continued to fidget and glance behind her to the sheets and Royal banner that had been hung over the clothesline to keep any errant males from sneaking a peek.

Nietzsche, who’d readily flopped into the water long ago, rested her elbows on the raised, stony bank of the hot spring and watched as the Princess’ attendants helped her to navigate out of the maze of strictly tightened laces that molded her stiff silken underclothes to her body. She didn’t really understand why humans wore so many uncomfortable-looking things, but then, like all Undines, she’d only ever really had to worry about holding her still-developing breasts still. In the proud waterfront cities of Embellia that were only inhabited by women, there wasn’t nearly so much worry about showing skin as there was out in human society.

Humans were silly in lots of ways. Still, Queen Emelone had always said that the things Nietzsche thought were silly weren’t bad, just different—it might not be the same as the way Undines did things, but their people still needed to respect others’ customs.

So even though Nietzsche winced a little for Yggdra’s sake as she struggled with her clothes, she didn’t say anything. She just watched with the other Undines who’d come with her out of Embellia as the Princess and her attendant joined the rest of them in the water.

Almost instantly, Yggdra sighed and slumped down, letting the water rise to her shoulders as the fine line of tension that had always been present in them vanished. “This feels so much better.”

“How did you guys know there’d be a place like this here, Nietzsche?” one of the sword maidens asked, finger-combing her hair with wet hands.

“There’s a vent in the earth in the ocean near here,” one of the other Undines answered. “We’re not altogether sure, but we think it doesn’t just make the water warm out there, but creates places like this, as well.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Ahh…” Nietzsche flipped over in the water, slapping her tail fin along its surface to scatter splashes at everyone else. “Princess, you’ve got such a nice figure! Nietzsche’s jealous!”

Yggdra went pink and shifted where she sat, drawing her legs up so that her knees were in front of her chest and crossing her arms. “N-not really…”

“But you _do!_ You’re so pretty. And in all those big dresses, Nietzsche never expected…”

“Well, she is a _princess,”_ the attendant on Yggdra’s other side said with a grin. “You know, she has to look like a pure maiden and all… it wouldn’t be proper for her to run around in stuff that showed her legs or her chest in public, you know.”

“Nietzsche’s impressed! It looks like it would be so hard to move in something like that, but the Princess can even fight in it like it’s not a problem!”

“Sometimes it _is,_ a little, but…” Yggdra hid behind her knees, bright red now.

“It’s not the _dresses_ that are even the real problem,” another of the sword maidens said with a grin. “Princess, if we don’t get you out of those corsets soon, that nice figure Nietzsche likes so much is gonna be totally ruined.”

“Corset?” Nietzsche repeated, blinking.

“The laced silk Her Highness was wearing,” the Undine nearest her explained. “They’re supposed to make a person’s waist smaller, Nietzsche.”

“I got forced into one once,” the sword maiden went on. “The next time someone suggested I put it on again, I threatened to stick ‘em with my Estoc. They squeeze your ribs so tight you can barely breathe, and on top of that they make your chest look a lot smaller. They’re in fashion right now at the Capital, so all the noble ladies wear them, and they wind up not being able to breathe and faint a lot. I like having real live hips and a waist, so I can deal with not being fashionable until the trend dies.”

“But if they’re not good for humans, then why are they popular? Nietzsche doesn’t get it,” she declared with a frown.

“Somebody a long time ago came up with the idea that beauty is pain, and women have been trying to convince men otherwise ever since.”

All the sword maidens and the Undines who’d come with Nietzsche laughed at that as Yggdra fidgeted and blushed and Nietzsche blinked at them, confused.

As one of the Undines reached around to her bag of supplies and started digging around in it, Nietzsche shook her head at the adults and turned back to the Princess. Even though she’d gotten all embarrassed when Nietzsche had said it, she really _was_ pretty. Although all the recent fighting meant she’d been putting on a bit of muscle, she still had a delicate figure, with a slender waist and soft curves. Even though there was so little time to see to daily care with all the battles and the travel, Yggdra’s long hair fell in a silky wheat-blond sheet past her waist, soft and smooth with nary a strand out of place. She’d gotten hurt here and there in battles before, but all of her wounds seemed to be healing without any trace of scars, and her soft-featured face remained unmarked.

And she really _was_ pretty well-endowed, even though all the layers she wore did a good job of concealing that fact. Nietzsche didn’t entirely understand why it embarrassed the Princess to have that pointed out, but then, there were lots of things she didn’t really get about humans yet.

“Here,” the Undine said, holding out the soap block and flat pieces of pumice she’d finally found. “It may not be much, but at least we’ve got this to share.”

There was a universal sigh of gratitude at the thought of getting really clean—it was really shocking how dirty you could get just traveling. Nietzsche and most of the Undines with her preferred to swim when they could, but they couldn’t always do so, and although they could still move over land easily enough with the powerful muscles in their tails, it kicked up an awful lot of road dust to do that. Adding to that all the sweating you did when you were _constantly_ marching almost straight from sunup to sundown and the fact that the Royal Army very rarely stopped at inns… there was a lot of road grime that needed to be washed off, and it was way easier with soap.

Plus, it made your skin feel a lot softer. It was too bad they didn’t have any herbs, since putting those in bath water was so good for your complexion. Oh, well.

As the soap changed hands and an animated discussion began over the latest exploits of Milanor’s thief flunkies, Yggdra straightened up and began to run water over her long hair, pooling it in both hands and splashing it over her head before it trickled through her fingers.

Nietzsche put both hands under the water’s surface behind the princess’ back and splashed up, soaking that long curtain of hair and making Yggdra squeak. “Let Nietzsche do that,” she asserted helpfully. “Nietzsche’s sister always let Nietzsche do her hair, and Nietzsche thinks it’s fun!”

“A-alright…” Yggdra said, sounding hesitant and bewildered. Nietzsche intercepted the soap and lathered her hands with it before giving it back to the rest of the waiting line, sliding lines of suds and bubbles down Yggdra’s hair and back.

Nietzsche really _was_ jealous. It wasn’t really fair that the Princess’ hair should be this soft and smooth and shiny. Her sister had always said that her hair would even out when she was older, but… getting “older” seemed to take too much time. Nietzsche wished she could be pretty _now,_ instead of having to wait so long.

“Nietzsche… do you mind if I ask you a question?” Yggdra ventured suddenly.

“No,” Nietzsche said cheerfully as she kept washing. “What is it, Princess?”

“Would you mind… telling me a little more about your sister? People have… talked about her, and what happened to her, a lot, but… I want to know more about what kind of person she was…”

Nietzsche almost stopped lathering Yggdra’s hair, she was so surprised. Usually, all the people she traveled with would apologize and go quiet whenever Nietzsche’s sister got brought up in conversation, even when Nietzsche _wanted_ to talk about her. But—maybe this shouldn’t be surprising after all. The princess had just lost her parents, hadn’t she? So she probably knew all about wanting to talk but not being able to.

“Nietzsche’s sister was…” She paused for a moment to think of how best to say it. “She knew about lots of different things… and she had lots of friends. Nietzsche’s family was close to the Queen, so there were lots of people who helped us when we needed it… still, Nietzsche’s sister didn’t like thinking of them like servants or anything like that. She liked to help them in return for things they did for us.

“Nietzsche’s sister was really smart, too! She could even read human writing—Nietzsche can’t do that at _all._ And even though she was good at things like that, she was a really fast swimmer too. She learned to fight, but she didn’t like to, because she thought it was better to try to talk things out first. Nietzsche thinks you would’ve liked her, Princess.”

“…I’m sorry… if we’d come through earlier, then maybe…” Yggdra said quietly.

“Things like this can’t be helped, so it’s not a good thing to think like that,” Nietzsche told her pragmatically. “Besides… Nietzsche’s sister was just living the way she believed in. She did what she thought was right. Nietzsche’s sister always said it’s better to trust others and get tricked than to doubt them and try to trick them yourself.”

“Even though things ended up the way it did?”

“Even so! Nietzsche’s sister didn’t do anything wrong. The person that tricked her is really at fault,” Nietzsche explained. “If she made a mistake, it’s that seeing everybody panic and having the ladies who were scared tell her that it was her fault if we all died out made her lose faith in her own words. But even that’s not her fault, not all the way. Even Nietzsche felt sad and guilty when everyone told us that we couldn’t go home anymore. But that’s okay! See, Princess, if Nietzsche can find the Transmigragem quick, Nietzsche’s sister might still be able to come back. And the Queen, and Ishiene and everybody else. They might still be able to be reborn. Nietzsche can just have everybody apologize to her sister then, and we’ll all be a happy family again. Even though sad things have happened, Nietzsche doesn’t want to hate anyone because of it. Even the person that stole the Transmigragem might have had a reason they had to. Don’t you think it’s better to look at it that way, Princess?”

Yggdra looked over her shoulder a little as Nietzsche gathered water in both hands and began to wash the soap out of her hair. “…You may be right about that. You’re… wise beyond your years, you know. Even though so many bad things have happened, you still have hope, and you’re using it to move forward. I really admire that, Nietzsche. And…

“And, if you want to… until you’ve found the Transmigragem, I mean… you can think of me as your big sister for a little while.”

This time, Nietzsche _did_ stop, letting her hands come to rest on Yggdra’s back for a few moments. Everyone else was still talking, but she didn’t really hear what they were saying. Her chest felt very warm.

“…Nietzsche would like that a whole lot,” she said at last, smiling a little.

“I’m glad,” Yggdra said. The bend of her cheek made Nietzsche think she was smiling. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Nietzsche lifted up water and ran the suds out of Yggdra’s hair. It wasn’t good to have soap in your hair for too long anyway—everyone was just so dirty that for now washing their hair with it was the fastest and best way to clean it.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Yggdra asked suddenly.

“Sure!” said Nietzsche. Secrets were like treasures, and it was a little exciting to have an older girl like the princess include her in knowing one.

“I should have had sisters,” Yggdra said. “Older ones. My mother gave birth to girls before I was born, but they died almost right away. I learned that this happened when I was a child. My sisters’ grave is across a lake. It’s a beautiful place, and I can’t wait to show it to you when we get to Paltina.

“And maybe I might have had younger siblings too, but my mother couldn’t have any more babies after me. So I’m an only child. That’s why I’m glad that you’re here, Nietzsche. My ladies in waiting are all very nice people, but they’re like servants really. We can only get so close. But you—now that you’re here, I finally get to have another girl to talk to. Durant and Milanor are nice people, but there really are some things that you can only talk about with people of the same gender.”

Nietzsche finished rinsing out Yggdra’s hair. There was a lot about how humans had babies that she didn’t understand still, but it all sounded a lot harder and scarier than how baby Undines were born, new souls tethered to big sleepy shells by umbilical cords until they were strong enough to swim on their own.

“It’s too bad that humans can’t come back,” she said at last, thinking of Yggdra’s almost-but-never sisters on top of her parents.

“It is,” Yggdra replied. “So I hope we can find the Transmigragem soon.”

“Yeah. You’re nice, Princess.”

Yggdra’s shoulders came up as she laughed. “Well, goodness.”

And because it was exactly what Nietzsche would’ve done to her own sister at a time like this, she slapped her tail through the water to splash Yggdra in the face.

Yggdra squeaked, but her own smile when she turned around and the rush of her hands through the water to splash Nietzsche back said she understood it completely.


	4. Red as Roses

Roswell jolted awake to the canopy of an unfamiliar bed swaying above him and lances of fiery pain lacing his chest like the seams of his ribcage. He lay still, overwhelmed with confusion, until bits of memory started to float back in. Fear—urgent and terrible—made his pulse race, and he fought against the pain and weakness and vertigo to sit up.

The warmth that had around his hands vanished, and the smaller pair that had evidently been wrapped about them found his shoulders. Despite their size, there was strength in them: He could not throw them off and sit up. “Lord Roswell, you mustn’t strain yourself! You’re in no condition—”

He recognized that voice. Even as his skin ached and nausea made a fist in his innards, he turned his head until his vision finally focused on the shockingly dark blue eyes of Princess Yggdra. “I—have to…”

“Please, calm down and listen to me! Everything’s alright; it’s all over.”

What could possibly be all right at a time like this? Roswell shook his head even as it clanged with pain and tried again to push her hands off. “My people are… the Black Knight, he’s… I have to… hurry—”

“Lord Roswell, _please,_ just listen—the battle is over. We’ve won. Your people are safe now. You’ve been delirious for the past several days. We drove General Leon away. He’s gone, so please just lie still, and—”

Over? How could the battle be over already? He’d been—right there. He’d just turned his men around in order to confront that traitorous scum of a knight, trying to save his poor defenseless townspeople, his lands—he’d been fighting—

Ah. He—he _had_ reached Leon, but by that time most of his guards had already been struck down. And then—Roswell frowned; his memories from that point on were still just an awful blur.

“Lord Roswell, don’t you remember…?” Yggdra seemed a lot less flustered now that she didn’t have to hold him to the bed. Her voice was much more calm and patient, even as she frowned at him with worry. “You were trying to fight General Leon off, and you were badly hurt. If we hadn’t arrived when we did, you might have been killed. While my forces held off the Black Cavalry, I tried to find you help… I was so afraid it was already too late. You were barely conscious at that point, I think, and by the time we’d reached this place, you’d passed out.”

“This place…” Roswell looked around. Even though his eyes were cooperating better now and he could see past the end of the bed he lay in without everything turning into a spiraling mess, he had no recognition of the room. Where _were_ they? His own estates were all decorated in dark colors—blues, violets, blacks. And this didn’t seem to be Marvel, either, or any of his villages. This room where he lay was all in pastels, soft delicate pinks and baby yellows and white.

“We’re at the Esmeralda manor right now,” Yggdra told him. “I wasn’t sure if Lady Rosary would agree to treat you, but there just wasn’t anywhere else to turn. I had to take the risk. You may not remember, but bandits attacked Marvel after the town guards were drafted; it was in no state to accept a patient in your condition. Lady Rosary surprised me… I thought she was going to refuse you, but she took one look at your wounds and ordered to have you seen to while she and I rejoined my main force. You’ve been out of it for so long… I was so worried about you.”

Rosary had taken him in? _Rosary_ of all people had saved his life? But that didn’t make sense. That didn’t make sense at all. She’d hated him for so long; why would she—

More pressing worries swept the confusion away as Yggdra gently but firmly pushed him onto his back again. “Please, Lord Roswell, you need your rest. You haven’t finished recovering…”

Roswell waved her hands away at last and tried to sit back up. “My people, my home… those men… what did they…?” His villages, his manor, his parents’ graves—what would he do if Leon had destroyed them? He was a fool to have ever trusted that man—but desperation and greed had made an idiot of him. “How many…?”

The princess frowned a little, clutching at the bodice of her dress with her left hand while her right settled on his arm. “Slow down, Lord Roswell. What do you want to know?”

Roswell just stared at her pleadingly. “The civilians, my men… how many… how many were…?”

This time, Yggdra seemed to understand. She placed both her hands on his. “Many of your soldiers were…” She looked down. “I’m so sorry. General Leon is powerful, and we just… we were too late… I’m so sorry.” She bit her lip for a moment before going on. “There were surprisingly few civilian casualties, given that man’s temperament—from what I know, your soldiers protected your people with their lives until we were able to arrive and help out.”

Surprisingly few. She was trying to make it sound positive, but it wasn’t _none._ Roswell sat very still, unable to think, unable to feel.

The next moment, he was again straining to get up. Yggdra held him back, clearly alarmed. “No—Lord Roswell, there’s nothing you can—!”

“I have to…” Had to _what?_ She was right, after all. But still— “Have to—apologize. I couldn’t… I couldn’t… I…” Pain knotted in his belly, and then something warm was dripping down onto the clean white sheets from his chest. Then fire seized his lungs and he couldn’t _breathe,_ and he hunched over coughing into his hand. He wondered if he was dying after all.

It would be no less than he deserved, really.

“Lord Roswell, _please!”_ The Princess’ arm was around his shoulders, bracing him. When the spasm eased, Roswell realized that he could taste something metallic and salty. Straightening up, he stared blankly down at the blood that was pooled in his palm.

 _I—this is my blood,_ he realized faintly, distantly. _I’m still—from the inside._ It was both a sickening and fascinating thought. His sense of self scattered further and further from the battered meat that sheathed his mind and spirit as his breathing deepened and shortened.

“Please,” Yggdra said softly, and pushed him gently back down into the pillows. “You have to rest. You’ll be able to see your people when you’re better. Everyone is so worried about you… so please, just get better. That’s all you can do right now. Please.”

Roswell wanted to argue, to try to sit up again, but he was so tired, so drained—physically and mentally and emotionally. All he could do was close his eyes and drift back through the abyss.

 

 

“Princess, you’re not eating much. Is something wrong?”

Yggdra blinked. She looked up from her plate to where Milanor and Durant were both watching her with dubious, concerned eyes, then shook her head. “Oh… no, not really. I was just… a little worried about Lord Roswell.”

The whole of the Royal Army, commanders and soldiers alike, was all crowded into the main hall with Rosary, her personal troops, and her servants. The table was laid out lavishly, as though Rosary was purposely stressing her victory over the secret betrayal and defeat she’d suffered while out fighting Leon. The young witch was down at the other end of the table, joking with Nietzsche and a few of Milanor’s thief flunkies, defiant in the face of loss. Apparently, they were reliving part of the battle for the Black Rose Domain, and Rosary was in her element, boasting back and forth as the soldiers around her teased, deflating her extravagant claims.

Yggdra was sitting a short distance away from the celebrating soldiers, and apparently because they felt they had to keep an eye on her, Milanor and Durant had stayed with her rather than join the party.

“He isn’t sickening again, is he?” Durant asked gravely, starting to frown.

Yggdra looked down at her plate again, poking at her half-eaten dinner. “If he is, at this point it’s a problem of his feelings. He took the news so hard… I wasn’t even able to tell him that his Ankh was stolen.” She fidgeted a little, guilty-faced.

“Huh.” Milanor shrugged and eased back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Y’know, it was pretty surprisin’—the way Roswell acted back there, I mean. He seems like he don’t care about nothin’ but magical mumbo-jumbo and his own pride, but then as soon as he hears Leon’s turned traitor…” He held out his hands in front of him, keeping his left still and moving his right forward, brushing them together briefly in pantomime of someone moving quickly.

Durant gave Milanor a smile that was only fractionally condescending. “Lord Roswell is much like Lady Rosary… at least in that they both put up a façade for the public to protect themselves, and show society what they believe society wants to see. For Lady Rosary, that façade is her seeming narcissism… for Lord Roswell, it’s as much the ideal of a mage and scholar as an ascetic as his own pride. But for all their faults—and bless them, they do have their faults—their hearts are in the right place. The fact that they and their forces were both willing to do the right thing when it came down to it should be more than enough proof of that.”

“I guess.” Milanor just shrugged. “You know I don’t see the point of the whole public face, private face noble thing.”

“But it worries me,” Yggdra insisted. “Lord Roswell just seemed so stricken… I’m afraid he’s blaming himself for the whole affair. The weight of all the lives lost and all the mistakes made is just too much for one person to bear alone…”

“It’s as much Rosary’s fault as his, but y’know, a little guilt’ll go a long way towards makin’ sure this kinda thing don’t happen again,” Milanor pointed out. “I mean. _Mages._ Crazy, delusional fuckers to the last.”

“Princess… you mustn’t be too concerned. After all, we scored a tremendous victory against the Empire in driving General Leon away from Verlaine,” Durant reminded her. “So many more would have died if it had not been for our actions. And besides… you’re to be congratulated for getting Lady Rosary to agree to defend Lord Roswell’s land.”

“You may be right, but…” Yggdra shook her head. “I can’t help but feel as though I ought to be doing more to help everyone. I’m sorry. I… I have to go check on Lord Roswell again. If nothing’s wrong, I’ll come right back down, I promise, but… please apologize to Lady Rosary for me.” Before either Milanor or Durant could do more than look at her blankly, she pushed her chair back and slipped from the grand hallway down the darkened corridors of the White Rose manor.

The further Yggdra got from the cheerful banter of the victory feast, the stronger and more insistent became her feeling that it had been a bad idea to leave Roswell alone for so long. Passing by a row of candleholders on a table that waited for the late-night hours when people would need them to navigate the halls to their rooms, Yggdra picked one up by impulse and lit it. She lifted it high to illuminate the dark corridors as she headed up one flight of stairs, then another while searching for Roswell’s borrowed rooms.

As soon as she got close, she heard it—the soft sound of jagged, hitching breathing, as though someone were crying. It was such a sad and pitiful sound—just listening to it filled Yggdra’s heart with sharp stabs of distress. Holding her candle higher, she headed for the door she thought was Roswell’s in careful steps.

“Lord Roswell…?” she ventured as she pushed it open. Then the candlelight swept across the darkness of the room, and she stopped in her tracks.

Roswell was slumped on his knees in the middle of the floor, as though he’d tried to walk when he’d awakened but hadn’t been able to make it very far. He’d stopped what he was doing and looked up when he’d heard Yggdra’s voice, and his beautiful turquoise eyes were narrow and dull with self-directed hate, trauma drawing dark bruises underneath them. The bloody stains on his bandages were freshly soaked, and his hands were frozen and tense, the fingers of his left clutched tightly around the knife, his right clenched into a fist.

Neat slashes marched up his arm, crying red droplets that slid down the curve of his flesh to make the cuts into something out of a nightmare, visceral and horrid.

With an inarticulate cry of distress, Yggdra flew across the room. She knelt before him, only thinking to set her candle down when it got in the way of reaching out to touch his shoulders. She let her hands travel up to Roswell’s face, stroking his hair back from his eyes, and he let her do it like an oversized doll. Not wanting to look at that expression any longer, she turned her eyes down to his arm, then tried to pry the knife from his fingers. He tightened his grip stubbornly, but the blood loss and the long sickness made it easy for her to take it from him and cast it aside.

“Roswell, _why?”_ she asked softly, firmly. She raised her head and touched his face again, making him look at her. “You’re already so hurt—why are you doing this?”

“Just leave me be.” He sounded tired, but almost calm. “You wouldn’t understand. This is my fault. It is my responsibility. If no one else will hold me to that, then I have to make it so that I will not forget.”

 _“No!”_ Feeling tears start in her eyes, Yggdra grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “This was _not_ your fault! The Empire was behind all of this—for Leon to have done so much to you, and for you to be tearing yourself apart with blame… that’s exactly what they want! Roswell, you don’t deserve this! There’s no need for you to do this to yourself!”

His stare was half piteous and half defiant. When the edges of his eyes filled with tears, when they started to fall in utter silence, it was awful. Yggdra had never seen a man older than her—an adult like Roswell—cry like this. “I dragged my people into my own petty rivalry with Rosary,” he said in a harsh, bitter whisper. “I stopped caring about consequences because I was too enraptured with possibilities, with bringing glory to my family name as a descendant of Valois. No one forced me into that. It is no one’s fault but my own.

“And I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, because I was so desperate for revenge against Rosary that it blinded me to the truth. And because I was such an _idiot,_ my people…” His voice shook. “Their lives are my responsibility, Princess. You, too, are a leader. You should know. I got them killed.”

“You would have died for them,” Yggdra reminded him, giving him another gentle shake. “Roswell, don’t you realize just how much that shows you value your people?”

“I put them at needless risk with my own recklessness and greed—not even dying for them would erase that. I’m a danger to the ones I care for.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. It was too bitter an expression on his soft mouth. “Those who lived will likely never forgive me—and I know they’re right not to do so. In their place, I would not forgive myself either.”

“Oh, Roswell…” Impulsively, Yggdra reached out and held him close. She had thought of him as an adult, and adults to her were still supposed to be infallible and mighty, but Roswell was close to her own size. He was also thin, and hot and clammy with sickness. Right now, he needed someone’s care, and she was the only one who knew. “You value yourself too little. Your people are worried sick about you. Those who didn’t see what happened firsthand have all heard about it by now… the way you rushed in to save them, without a single thought to your own safety or how many wounds you took. They know you would have died for them in an instant. They know that you would never make another reckless decision when it comes to their safety, and that you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. _They_ see you for what you are—their hero, their protector. The people whose lives were lost wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. I’m sure they knew that you were doing your best.”

“I’m a coward, and a fool, and self-important,” he went on into her shoulder. “I let greed and pride and stupidity get the better of me, and I let them down. I—”

“You’re brave, you’re selfless, and you care too much,” Yggdra interrupted, holding him a little tighter. He was shaking slightly—from the cold of the approaching night or the pain and exhaustion he was in or from silent tears, she didn’t know. “And you’re only human, Roswell. None of us is perfect. What matters is that you realize you made a foolish decision, and that you tried to make it right. No one is blaming you for this but you.” He was still in a delicate state, so when she shifted his weight so that she could get at his arm and hold it up, she tried to be gentle. When she pressed her fingers down below where the cuts started to try to stop the bleeding, he made a soft pained sound and shuddered, and she winced sympathetically. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. But we have to wait until you’re well enough to stand before we can get this seen to properly.”

Roswell let a breath out, and all the fight in him seemed to go out with it. He laid his head silently against her shoulder, his eyes half closed. “…Why are you so insistent on this?”

“Because I saw you as well as your people did,” Yggdra told him softly. “I saw you face down Leon and his men all by yourself, without even a hope of winning. I saw you fight your hardest, no matter how badly he hurt you, until you just couldn’t move anymore. My father did the same for my sake, at the fall of Paltina. I don’t know if I could ever do the same. It takes so much strength—being able to fight for someone else, without regard to your own well-being. What made you able to do that is more than just responsibility, Roswell, it’s something stronger… you love them enough to go on as though your life doesn’t mean anything to you as long as they make it through safely. I think that everyone in the world wants to be loved like that.

“But just because everyone in the world wants to be loved so selflessly, I don’t think anyone wants the people who love them to really die for them. Looking at my father’s back as he fought told me just how important that I was to him, but I would have been happy if he had escaped with me—if he had thought that staying alive for my sake was just as brave and necessary as dying for me. And thinking that he would have blamed himself for being too powerless to stop everything that’s happened just like you are now—that hurts.

“Loving a whole country enough to die for everyone living in it, that’s so brave and good of you. But it’s such a heavy weight for any one person to carry. I don’t want you to be crushed by that weight, like my parents were.” She watched as he looked up at her, and held his gaze, even though it hurt so much to see the despair in his eyes. “By the time we reached you… I thought for a moment you were already gone, and I was so afraid. I don’t want to watch anyone I care about die ever again, Roswell. I’m sure that your people are afraid to lose you, too. So please… don’t hurt yourself like this. If only for me, please…”

Roswell closed his eyes and sighed.

“You want your people to know how you feel about what happened, don’t you?” Yggdra pressed. “Then just hold on so that you can tell them yourself! Roswell, I know you’re hurting. I _know_ that the way you look on the outside must not even compare to how badly your heart is bleeding on the inside. But I know how strong you are. So…”

“…Princess.”

Yggdra, suddenly self-conscious that she had been rambling everything she could think to say, reddened and looked down at him. “Y-yes?”

Roswell was smiling a little—his face still was tired and gray, but he was smiling. “I can’t feel my fingers, Princess. If you could…”

Yggdra’s face flamed, and she loosened her hold on his arm, only supporting it and keeping it in the air while he flexed his hand softly closed, then open again. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, but the ghost of a smile still lingered on his face. “You don’t have to apologize to someone like me. I know that you’re only trying to help.”

“I do think that you realize it already, but that’s a terrible double standard to set,” she scolded, and smiled back. “Come on, Lord Roswell… let’s find something to wrap your arm up in. I won’t leave your side tonight… you need someone with you, and I’m not about to let you hurt yourself again.”

“Now, why the formality all of a sudden?” As awful as Roswell sounded, the slightest hint of humor had entered his voice.

“I-I’m sorry?” Yggdra looked down at him, puzzled.

“You were addressing me only by name just a moment ago,” he reminded her. And when she went bright red and began to apologize, he cut her off. “I liked that.”

And while Yggdra just sat still and blushed, Roswell painstakingly pulled himself into a sitting position. He rested his free hand along the side of her face, and then leaned in and kissed her quite formally.

Yggdra was too shocked even to close her eyes, the tumble of confused thoughts too much for her to even begin to pick through. All she knew for sure was that the brief press of his lips to hers was delicate, and that the taste of his skin was obscured with the salty tang of blood. His hair fell into her face, silky and damp at the tips and lightly tickling her skin. Roswell made no move to deepen the kiss, only remaining where he was for a handful of heartbeats before pulling away.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and leaned his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. This time, Yggdra closed hers as well, trying to remember how to breathe. Roswell’s lips had been very soft, and she was sure she would remember exactly how they had felt for a very, very long time.

He was still bleeding, and he was definitely shivering now from all the skin his bandages left exposed to the chilly night air, and as distraught as he was it would take more than her flinging all the words she could think at him to convince him stop hating himself. But even though she knew all that and the fact that she would have to look after his injuries soon… Yggdra felt that she wanted to stay with Roswell like this for just a little bit longer.


	5. Pride and Sensibility

It was very, very early in the morning—so early that the first pale rays of dawn were barely beginning to creep over the caps of the Lenessey mountain range. All of Verlaine was still covered in the remnants of a loose mist—it looked mysterious and romantic, as though air spirits had gone dancing over the lakes over the past night. The early summer air was crisp without being too chilly, as it would be when autumn rolled around.

There’d been warm food before they’d set out only half an hour or so ago, a lovely breakfast spread and bittersweet coffee. The servants had smiled worriedly and wished them all the best, swearing that they would take care of the manor until the safe return of their masters.

It was a wonderful day for a hike, and if they kept up this pace, the Royal Army would probably make it to the mountains before noon arrived and it would get too hot. Once they were on the trail, it would be a week or so until they reached the northern districts of Paltina, the Kingdom’s capital.

Rosary was really looking forward to it. A little walking didn’t bother her—she made sure to keep in shape, if only so that she wouldn’t lose her figure—and at the moment, she felt as though she could accomplish anything.

(It didn’t hurt that if she did get tired, she had a convenient broomstick she could sit on for a little while. It wasn’t cheating, or at least she didn’t want to look at it that way—if the others had wanted the convenience of being able to hover, then they should’ve put some years into magic, too.)

If she wanted to be completely honest with herself, the past year or so in Verlaine had been _boring._ She wasn’t Roswell—she just didn’t find endless days of research and practice to be very much fun. Rosary preferred human company and challenges to solve, and maybe it was shallow of her to consider the impending war to be adding some flavor to things, but it was the truth. There was also the matter of getting those Ankhs back. People tended to think of her distant cousin as the vengeful one, but Rosary could hold a grudge just as well. That Russell and the Empire would pay for manipulating her and stealing what was hers. Besides, the extra power boost had felt too good for her to not want to keep it.

This whole affair was interesting, and it promised to be a good way to test her skills. Back when she’d joined that Princess Yggdra on the battlefield and helped the Royal Army beat the Imperial knights back, it had felt a lot better than she’d expected—there was an exhilaration to fighting for a cause she knew was worthy. Really, what more could a witch who’d honed her battle magic ask for than a chance to be a hero?

So while Milanor whined about the height of the mountains up ahead and Durant and the princess talked strategy up ahead, Rosary let her lips bow up and took a deep breath of the morning air, thoroughly satisfied with herself.

—Not as though there weren’t still irritations in her life, she remembered with a sigh and a roll of her eyes as she heard the labored breathing from behind her.

The Royal Army hadn’t been able to wait any longer, and Roswell had refused to be left behind. The healers had seen to his wounds, of course, but his body would still be unstable for a week or more. The silly man was just too stubborn to care, was the gist of it.

Rosary tilted her head to the side and spared him a dismissive glance—he was already struggling, in visible distress, with his attendants hovering worriedly around him. The man was an idiot, and unfortunately for all of them, he didn’t let go of things once he’d got his claws into them. His magic was nothing to sneeze at, if not quite at Rosary’s own level, but if the fool tried to fight in this condition he’d just get himself killed. And he was going to slow them down.

Stupid people. There was no escaping them.

As Rosary shook her head over Roswell, Yggdra glanced over her shoulder and noticed the state he was in. Her big blue eyes went even wider with worry, and she turned around, jogging back past Rosary to fuss. Turning a little herself, Rosary watched them with an amused smile: Ignoring Roswell’s weak protests and attempts to fend her off, Yggdra felt at his forehead and examined his face, then set about giving him a well-deserved scolding.

Silly, and a little pathetic. And downright cute, come to think of it. Rosary knew that the princess had just turned seventeen—making her two years the girl’s senior—but at times she came off as much, much younger. It was in the frantic way she ran around trying to play mother hen to her entire army, and the way they invariably shook their heads and went along (with an eyeroll and a “Yes, milady mother” the strongest protest, and usually only given by Milanor). From the looks of things, Yggdra was in the process of taking Roswell and Rosary herself into the fold.

If there was one thing Rosary was sure of, it was that she wouldn’t be causing Yggdra much worry. She had more sense in her little finger than all the men with them combined—and while Nietzsche had the kind of practicality only young children seemed to possess, she was still a kid and knew nothing about human culture. These weren’t traits that tended to keep one out of scrapes.

So, if she was the only one who wouldn’t be giving Yggdra serious grief… Rosary smiled a little. She’d flippantly promised she’d behave when she’d decided to come along with the Royal Army, but maybe it was time to start testing the limits of her word.

So when Yggdra came up alongside her on the way to retake her place the front prong of their party, Rosary slowed her pace to drift alongside her new commander.

“Roswell’s being stupid again, I take it?”

Yggdra sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably. “He’s just still suffering so much from those wounds… I really would feel better if we could stop somewhere and give him some extra time to rest. When we reach the Capital, the situation will likely be very dangerous… and yet, I can’t tell Roswell to stay behind knowing that we’re going to need his power in battle there. I also think it will be better for his mentality if he’s allowed to do what he can to help us.”

“Well, he’s kind of always been like that. You’re worried because you don’t know him as well as the rest of us, but once you get used to it, his absentminded-professor act will annoy you just like it does everybody else.” Rosary elegantly tossed her hair to show her scorn and disdain.

“But—you two are related; should you really be saying things like that?” Yggdra asked, clearly even more uncomfortable than before.

“He’s my cousin, two or three times removed,” Rosary reminded her. “And besides, his being an idiot is objective truth. But enough talking about boring things—how have you been holding up lately?”

“Oh—I…”

“You _have_ got plenty to worry about with logistics and such, I’ll admit, but still. It can’t be any kind of hardship being surrounded by good-looking men who’ll happily jump to your command.”

“Um… I-I’m sorry, Lady Rosary, I’m not sure what you…”

“Oh, come _on,_ I’m sure you know _exactly_ what I.” Grinning, Rosary lightly nudged the Princess in the ribs. “That Milanor sure is determined to get you back in your position.”

Yggdra laughed uncertainly. “Oh… a-actually, I’m fairly sure he’s just eager to claim his reward for helping me. W-we did… make a bargain for his assistance, after all.”

_“Re-e-e-e-e-eally.”_ Rosary raised her eyebrows as though she was entirely unconvinced, then shrugged. “Durant, then. He’s _very_ devoted to you, isn’t he? Almost _suspiciously_ so.”

“W-well…” Yggdra was slowly starting to turn red now; her cheeks were already bright pink. “E-eventually, I-I _will_ be his sovereign, so… Durant is very duty-minded, and he…”

“Roswell, then?” Yggdra went bright scarlet and opened her mouth, but Rosary went right on. “He’s an idiot, sure, but his one virtue does happen to be his pretty face. It pains me to admit it, but he does at least have good looks to be vain about. The peacock. Besides, he actually _listens_ to you… if only a little. I always thought he was much too stuck-up to listen to anybody.”

“Lady Rosary! This is—it’s not—this isn’t _appropriate,_ and—!” Yggdra whisper-shouted, blushing straight up to her ears.

_Well, well._ “And why not? There’s nothing wrong with girls our age discussing men’s assets. Is it the status difference? I _do_ suppose that the head of a noble house isn’t close at all to the heir presumptive of a powerful kingdom, but…”

_“No!_ That’s not it at _all!”_

“The age difference, then? He’s just four years older than you, silly,” Rosary teased, grinning broadly. “For _any_ members of nobility in this world, that’s nothing. Just think about your parents’ marriage, or your grandparents’. It’s not uncommon for young ladies of status to tie the knot with people ten or even fifteen years older than themselves. All that considered…” A thought occurred to her, and she shrugged. “And even if you prefer girls to men—”

“I don’t,” Yggdra interjected.

“Okay,” Rosary said. “But still, there’s a severe shortage of little Artwaltzes around for your sword to go to if anything happens to you. So where’s the harm in thinking about who you might want to make an heir with? It’s not like you’re drawing up a marriage contract.”

“The harm is that Roswell is my _friend!_ So are Durant, and Milanor—it’s just rude to think of them that way—and besides, I’ve so many other things to worry about, instead of just…! It’s not as though I don’t notice that Roswell is handsome, or—!” Yggdra stopped speaking abruptly and covered her mouth, red all the way to the tips of her ears.

Rosary patted Yggdra’s shoulder. “Aww, don’t get so worked up about it. I’m just teasing you, that’s all.”

“Teasing…?” Yggdra repeated blankly.

“Yeah. I just wanted to pick on you a little bit, see if I could get a rise out of you. You’re cute when you’re all worked up like that, you know.” As Yggdra continued to stare at Rosary as if she’d just turned someone into a frog, Rosary made a face. “But you don’t have to feel guilty or anything for ogling the beefcake in front of you. I mean, it’s _there._ If you’re capable of noticing it, you’re gonna notice it. What’s the problem?”

Yggdra made a troubled expression. “That’s—Lady Rosary, that’s very different from what I’ve been told all my life.” She rubbed at the end of her nose. “I am a princess, after all. Only my blood-related children will be capable of wielding the Gran Centurio, and so it’s important for me to marry a consort later in life. It’s important for that consort to be appropriate. And it’s important for me to keep my body and mind pure, so that the consort candidates that my court approves of will be willing to enter a marriage contract with me. In Fantasinia, whoever wields the Holy Sword and is crowned in Welheim is the sovereign, regardless of their sex. But traditionalist nobility tends to insist on virgin brides.”

“Oh god,” Rosary said. “So your parents have been drilling the whole keep-your-legs-closed-because-you-are-chattel-and-your-virginity-is-your-bidding-point bullcrap into you for your whole life, basically?”

“Mm. Not my parents. The court. But yes, that would be the general gist of it.”

“Eugh,” Rosary said sympathetically. “My parents were like that too. They threw _such_ a fit when they found out I was having sex. For a while I believed all their treating me like I’d just thrown all my worth out, but after they died in the sickness that hit our country? After I finally got to see that that’s not how commoners and the middle class live? I finally got it into my head that that was wrong. My body belongs to me. It’s not up to anybody but me who I sleep with or even who I decide to marry. And sleeping with people doesn’t make you impure or whatever. Any guy who refuses to marry you if you’ve got experience is scum and not worth your time.

“And you know what, Princess? You don’t have to listen to your court either.”

“What do you mean?” Yggdra asked.

“Well—you’re the goddamn Princess,” Rosary said, holding up a finger. “You being royalty means you outrank the power-grabbing idiots in your court. Your people love you so much already, and when we kick those Imperial douchebags out of your city, you’ll be a national hero. That’s another thing. And history’s actually on your side. You know Paltineas, the founder of your kingdom, was born out of wedlock. If there’s any record of who his father was, it’s been lost, but Paltina didn’t marry anybody and she didn’t have any officially known consort either. Adding to that,” she held up a fourth finger, “Lombardia, who’re pretty important allies to you kingdom folk? They worship Paltina as a saint, more or less. So they’d be on your side.

“And for better or worse, a whole bunch of your court’s gone now. They can’t tell you what to do with your body and what not to do with men anymore.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Yggdra said, and she sighed.

“So, if you wanted to marry, or even just have a roll in the hay with, some lesser noble or a knight or a commoner—” Rosary grinned and flicked a suggestive look at Durant and Milanor up ahead of them. “I think the kingdom would care a whole lot more about you saving it than about the details, right? Especially if the boy in question’s a national hero too.”

_“Lady Rosary,”_ Yggdra squeaked, turning red again.

“And if anybody _does_ try to get on your case about it, well, I’ll hold his arms behind his back so you can punch him in the nose,” Rosary finished, quite satisfied.

“Lady _Rosary!”_ Yggdra squeaked a second time, half mortification and half delight.

Rosary laughed. “Your reactions really are great.”

“Stop _doing_ that!”

“Don’t get mad, I’m being sincere here! Being a noblewoman and more experienced in the ways of the world, it’s only right for me to help you learn to make the world work for you. You belong to yourself, Princess. Things like who to have sex with and when, it’s not right for anybody to decide that but you. If you want or need advice, or just somebody your age to talk to, come to me.” Rosary grinned. “And drop the ‘Lady’. It makes me feel all stuffy, especially when you’re calling Roswell without the fancy title. I’m not really one for all the formality. And if we’re going to talk about boys and sex and how the crusty old noble generations have a stick up their collective arse and need to get off our feet, I think we’re close enough that you don’t need it.”

“Hmm.” Yggdra’s gaze was plenty dubious, but it was still relaxed. “I think I would like having more women to talk to about these things—I have Nietzsche too, but Undines don’t have to worry about marriage politics, after all—but if I do talk to you, it will be in all earnestness. So I won’t take kindly to your teasing me then.”

“Fair enough,” Rosary said. “If it’s a serious topic, I won’t pick on you. And, tell you what… I’ll make this one up to you. You _are_ still worried Roswell’s going to wear himself out, right? So I’ll let him ride pillion for a little while.” Taking out her broomstick out, Rosary patted it to explain. “He’s a moron and I can’t stand him, but I’ll suffer a little while for you.”

“Would you? I appreciate that very much, Lady Ro—I mean, Rosary.” Yggdra blushed and looked down, but when she dipped Rosary a little bow, it was with a smile. Before Rosary had a chance to reply, she ran ahead to walk with Durant and Milanor again.

Cute, heck. Sheltered princessness and stuffy manners and all, she was _adorable._

And if Rosary didn’t make good on her offer, she’d probably get angry again. Maybe that would be really funny, but it would mean that everyone else would probably get mad at her, too, and hiking with a host of angry companions was no fun. And besides, if Yggdra thought that Rosary’s word was untrustworthy, they wouldn’t be able to talk as friends. That would make Yggdra’s learning to stand up for herself as a noblewoman a lot harder.

The things she put herself through to stick it to the patriarchy. With a long-suffering sigh, Rosary leveled her broomstick and sat, waiting for Roswell and his attendants to catch up.

It took them a while, but they did. Roswell was still in bad shape—he was pale although his face had taken on that clammy sheen out of the effort of pushing forward. He was even panting now, and his eyes were half-closed and hazy.

Already annoyed, Rosary put her free hand on her hip. “Hey. Stupid distant cousin.”

Roswell raised his head and gave her a _look._ “What is it, Rosary.” He was tired enough that it was a flat statement, rather than a question.

“Sit. You’re done walking for the moment—princess’s authority. I’m to give you a ride for a while, so you won’t fall flat on your face before we even hit the mountain.”

“How very courteous of the two of you.” Still, Roswell sat without any argument, folding his legs to one side and clutching the haft of the broomstick with both hands.

“You’re going to have to hold on to _me,_ or else you’re going to fall off, dummy,” Rosary pointed out, giving him a beady stare from over her shoulder.

Roswell gazed levelly back, and set a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but not too heavy.

_Smart man._ If he’d tried to put an arm around her waist as she’d been expecting, she would’ve scolded him, and considered taking the opportunity to smack him upside the head.

“So what did you do?” Roswell asked at length.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t offer this out of the kindness of your heart, particularly not with recent events… and I doubt that she would give such an order if she knew it would bother you. Meaning that you did something, and you’re trying to use this to get out of it.”

Rosary just laughed. “Our new commander sure is cute, isn’t she?”

“… _Dear_ cousin, one of these days we will have to hold a serious discussion about your hobbies, because you need better ones.”

“Thanks, Roswell. I love you, too.”


	6. The Sun in a Glass

Yggdra looked around the Imperial sentry post, feeling as dizzy as a child lost in the marketplace. The skirmish had ended quickly; all the fear of being discovered after everything they’d done had evaporated into heady relief when her men had slain the wayward messengers who’d come upon them. After all the horror at having been discovered by two Imperial commanders and barely defeating them with Mistel and Bly’s help, maybe taking this post shouldn’t have gotten her so nervy, but she’d been badly frightened nonetheless at the thought everything might have been for naught. As it was, her people were already swarming all over the post, taking what supplies they could while others rested, their wounds being dressed.

She’d given the order that they would take a rest for a while, knowing that their wounded couldn’t take pressing on just yet—and that neither could she. And yet the impasse, where no one would allow her to help or do anything but stand still, was somehow worse than moving forward.

Aimless and distressed, Yggdra paced back and forth.

Durant was happily surveying what the troops had brought in, approving and vetoing food and spare armor for addition to what they were already bringing with them for the assault on the capital. Milanor, brimming with glee and anticipation at glimpsing the Royal castle within his grasp, kidded with his flunkies, while Rosary and Nietzsche disparaged him from a distance.

Mistel, along with Yggdra’s bodyguards, was at the mouth of the trail ahead, surveying the wheat fields that bordered Framm, the granary that made up the northeastern district of Paltina. She and Durant had observed that while some of the fields had been harvested already, much of the grain had been left to continue its growth, and apparently she was thinking up a few plans of attack that would utilize that fact.

Yggdra glanced around the edges of the worn path, then spotted Roswell sitting against the sharp slope of the mountain and hurried over to him.

Here was one of her most pressing reasons for stopping to rest. Roswell was so ashen his skin seemed gray, his lips blue-white. He was obviously breathing with difficulty, his chest heaving, and a fine layer of perspiration covered his face, making stray strands of his hair stick to his cheeks. And even now, burgundy was starting to seep through the fabric of his robes at his chest and along his side.

Yggdra knelt down beside him, clutching her skirts worriedly. It was a moment before Roswell was able to turn towards her, his gaze hazed with pain and exhaustion. Still, when he saw her worried expression, he managed something that looked like it was supposed to be a smile.

“I’ll be fine—the air’s just a little thinner—up here…”

Yggdra bit her lip hard and rested her hand on his shoulder, resisting the urge to scold or cry. Most of Roswell’s wounds were healing very cleanly, but those two—the most severe—had broken open again from the exertion of the climb and the string of vicious battles they’d had to fight to get this far. Even getting back down the mountain might be a struggle for him—how would he possibly be able to handle all the fighting they’d have to do once they entered the city? His health was in jeopardy; it terrified Yggdra. If she pushed him much harder, he would start coughing up blood again, and then he would be able to go no farther. The Royal Army would have to leave him behind, or he would die.

But they already had so _few…_

Gritting his teeth against the pain of movement, Roswell reached up and gently touched Yggdra’s cheek, wiping away the hot tears that were just starting to spill.

“Don’t cry for me, Princess,” he said very gently, his pretty aquamarine eyes soft. “I’ll be alright. We’ll all be alright.”

Yggdra squinted and breathed in, clenched her hands in her lap to keep from flinging her arms around Roswell. Doing that would be silly and would probably hurt him besides. And if she cried here, it would surely only frighten her men.

How had her father managed to lead armies into battle, knowing and caring for his commanders and soldiers? Between worry and nerves, Yggdra was already wishing that she could just leave all her authority to someone else.

“Princess?” She looked up, blinking back impending tears, to see that one of Roswell’s attendants had joined them. The necromancer was holding a kit of medical supplies under his arm, staring at the two of them with a bemused expression. “We’ll take care of milord, don’t you fret. Lord Roswell, it’s time to change your dressings.”

Roswell sighed, then pulled himself up against the rock face, wincing as the motion strained the muscles of his wounded side. When Yggdra stood, wanting to help but not knowing what she should do, he reached out to pat her shoulder. The two necromancers turned towards the tent where the other injured soldiers were being seen to.

“You might want to try this,” said a helpful voice from behind Yggdra, making all three of them jump. “The cleric in the little village down the way puts a great deal of power into it; why, everyone I know swears by it. With this, you’ll surely heal much faster.”

Mistel had apparently finished her surveillance—she’d snuck up on them quietly and quite cheerfully, and while Yggdra stood staring, she produced a shallow stone jar from the folds of her shawl and held it out towards Roswell, who accepted it with another wince.

“Thank you.”

Mistel smiled broadly. “Oh, don’t you worry about it. Now—go on off and get those bandages changed; I’ll look after the Princess.” With that, she laid a gentle hand on Yggdra’s shoulder and steered her off towards a more secluded part of the trail.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Yggdra followed along. Mistel and her grandfather had certainly saved the Royal Army from disaster on their journey over the mountains, but Yggdra didn’t know what to expect from her yet.

But then, Bly had been her father’s trusted advisor. The two men had been close enough for Bly to be unhappy to hear of Ordene’s death, and to disparage his memory for not taking the actions that Bly had thought would have averted all of this. For her father’s part, he must have cared for Bly and his family, to smuggle them out of the country after such a scandal. So there was a connection there already, even if all of that had happened long before Yggdra was even born.

And airy-fairy attitude and all, Mistel was actually very reliable. She had a better head for tactics than Durant, and was in fact the one who had directed both the dispatch of the messengers and the choice to use the grain for cover. New to the team as she was, Yggdra already had faith that Mistel’s presence would be a great boon.

The two of them finally stopped next to a nearly vertical incline, bordering on the outlook where Mistel had been appraising Framm. Mistel turned towards Yggdra, looked down at her appraisingly, then gently coaxed her into a sitting position. “Just relax a moment, Princess. Head on your knees, and take deep breaths. Poor thing—you’re stressing yourself into such a dither.”

Yggdra did as she was bade, trembled a little, and let a few more of those tears of worry leak into her skirts, where no one would notice them.

There was a shift of gravel as Mistel sat next to her, and then the woman’s warm hand on her back, stroking her long hair soothingly.

“You have so much to worry about lately—you’re letting it get away with you. Don’t think I haven’t heard the way that Milanor boy keeps asking you why you seem so down, when we’re so close to your home.”

Yggdra sat up and wiped her face. “I just—I’m happy that we’ve come this far, I _am,_ but… at the same time, it terrifies me. There are so many of the enemy, and so few of us… I could lose my friends in this battle like I lost my father, and I’m so afraid thinking that. And…” She hung her head, clutched her skirts. “I’m… a little bit scared of what will have happened to my people in the weeks and months it’s taken to get here, as well…”

Mistel rubbed Yggdra’s shoulder and made soothing noises while the princess struggled to get impending tears under control.

“Roswell’s already in such bad shape—and I worry about them all; Milanor and Rosary might forget themselves and take needless risks, and Nietzsche… she’s so _young,_ maybe Durant was right and I was wrong about wanting to take her along, and…”

Mistel kept patting, although she assumed a thoughtful little frown as she propped her elbow on her knees and her face on the heel of her hand. “Princess… all I can think that might help is a bit of advice my grandfather gave His late Majesty once. Would you like to hear it?”

Scrubbing her face again and sniffling a little, Yggdra nodded. “Yes… very much, please.”

“You may have noticed that even though many of the soldiers are excited, Princess, everyone is still on edge—no matter how close we are to victory. And that’s because _you’re_ on edge, dear. It’s a burdensome thing for you to have to live with to be sure, but the fact is that you _are_ our leader. The soldiers all look to you, take their cues from you, and by being openly worried, you distress them, too.

“And seeing them scurrying about with nerves worries you all over again, and the cycle starts itself all over. But there’s something you can do to help them, make them feel better about their chances—and I think it’s well within your power.”

“What is it?” Yggdra asked, blinking.

In response, Mistel smiled, displaying the light dimple in her right cheek as she reached out to poke Yggdra’s.

“Why, all you have to do is smile for them,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Smile…?”

“It can’t be easy for you to bear, but right now all these people are looking at you to be their strength. Even if you can’t stop worrying deep down inside, you have to try to act the part. If they believe in you and believe in their chances, they’ll do you proud. I know how afraid you are, and I know what it is to just want to break down, give in. And after the battle, you can do that—you can let yourself think about all the times things _almost_ went wrong, and the risks you ran. No one is going to mind if you’re so relieved you cry. But right now, you need to show your people that you have hope.”

“… _My…_ people…” Yggdra echoed, glancing back towards the bustling camp.

“That’s right!” Mistel told her. “Yours. These people love you, dear. They’ll do anything for you—just as long as you can show them how to be brave.”

Yggdra hugged her knees to her chest and sat very still, turning it over in her mind.

“You know the saying that either you’re smiling or you’re crying?” Mistel asked, still smiling at the younger girl. “It’s not always quite so simple, and it’s not healthy to always bottle your feelings up. Sadness and worry aren’t things to be ashamed of. But when you’re in public and you have to be a source of strength for others, those things are a luxury. When it gets too much to handle, you can always speak with me or someone else in your confidence, and we will make your excuses so that you can take a moment to yourself, to feel. I’ve explained what it is for us to rely on you, but there are ways in which you can rely on us, too.”

Taking a deep breath, Yggdra lowered her eyes. When she looked back up, she had a shaky smile of her own on her face.

“There, that’s more like it.” Mistel cupped the princess’ face in her hands. “That’s the face everyone here will do anything to protect. Now, Princess—if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask, alright? I _do_ include myself when I say ‘everyone’.”

Yggdra stood, smoothing out her skirts and wiping her face again. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to keep up a façade for that long, but as the legendary Bly’s granddaughter, Mistel probably knew what she was talking about. And besides—if it was true that everyone here looked to her that much, she wanted to be stronger. She wanted to be that kind of girl, the kind no one doubted as a leader, the kind who reassured others instead of constantly being reassured herself. She wanted to take care of people, and she wanted justice to be done—no matter how conceited that thought might be.

“Actually, there _is_ one thing…” she said slowly.

Mistel stood and straightened her shawl, folding her hands neatly at her waist. “What is it?”

“You’ve been looking at the path down to Framm for quite a while. Do you have any ideas of how we should proceed?”

Mistel smiled, but just pointed. “I think that as things are, if we head down during daylight, we’ll likely be spotted by the enemy right off. We should wait until just before dawn, then head down—we’ll hit the wheat cover as soon as the sun comes up. That way, we’ll be able to take any enemies stationed there by surprise. The hike down from here is quick and easy; why, with the hours our forces will be resting in the interim, even Roswell should be able to manage it without any trouble.”

Yggdra nodded, impressed. Mistel didn’t call herself a tactician for nothing—Yggdra or Milanor would probably have just gone straight down and attracted the Imperial Army’s attention, and maybe even Durant wouldn’t have thought of this. As Mistel said, maybe they did have a chance after all.

“Please tell everyone what we’re going to do… I’m going to try to compose myself a little, and then I should probably check in with everyone. Especially Roswell. Even though he _should_ be able to make the descent, I still want to make sure he’s not pushing himself.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Mistel said, flashing her usual guileless smile. Then, to Yggdra’s surprise, she bowed from the waist. “Princess, you’re going to make an excellent Queen when you ascend the throne.”

And before Yggdra could think of anything to say, off she went, still beaming brightly.


	7. In Wartime and in Peace

Yggdra knew she shouldn’t be out of bed—the castle healers and doctors had told her more than enough times that people who have been unconscious for several days on end must take care not to strain their health any further—but she just couldn’t help herself. Lying in her soft white bed with its gauzy canopy curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows, she sometimes felt as though the past few months had been nothing but a series of bad dreams.

Or, no—not _bad_ dreams. Just dreams: Some good, like the ones about Milanor and Durant and Nietzsche and Roswell and Rosary and Mistel; some bad, like the ones about her parents dying and her having to fight the Undines of Embellia; and some decidedly strange, like her time with the Imperial Army. Sleepy and disoriented, Yggdra sometimes wondered if any of them _had_ been any more than dreams. So to keep herself awake and to remind herself that it was all real and had really happened, Yggdra paced the room restlessly. Action reminded her that her feet were a lot more used to walking than before, that her muscles had strengthened and were sore from their overuse and successive disuse.

She had a lot to think about. The others had debriefed her on how they’d fought to get her back, chasing Gulcasa and his soldiers through the fortress of Karona, the sprawling forests of Marduk, and the wastelands of Lost Aries to rescue her. They’d told her of their victories against the mercenary Inzaghi and Leon the Black Knight, reveling in how they’d slain some of their most dangerous foes.

She’d been introduced to all the new faces—Russell the Astral Fencer and his fiancée, the cleric Flone, who had been freed from the Empire and now chose to fight for the Kingdom; Cruz, the hunter who’d fought to free Karona with his men; Pamela, the eccentric little witch girl who wanted to study Undines and had joined them simply to be near Nietzsche; Elena, the very shy and polite assassin who’d betrayed the Empire to see her brother Leon stopped. She wanted to get to know them better, though it still shocked her a little how large her army had grown while she’d been away.

And she had yet to decide what to make of the things she’d seen as an Imperial prisoner. It had been frightening, and uncomfortable, but some things had been different than she had expected.

The look Gulcasa had worn, for instance, when his men had come to tell him that his friend was dead. When he’d fought Yggdra and she’d wounded him, his only reaction had been to lose his temper—but in that moment he’d looked as though someone had ripped the ground out from under his feet.

And the way his army had come together to support him, to bear him up, until he’d been able to focus on more than just the raw grief—for all the world like a _family._ The same way Yggdra was sure her army would do, if they were to lose one of their own.

The more Yggdra tried not to think of it because it disturbed her, the more stubbornly it stayed on her mind. She wished she could believe that at least that part had been a dream.

Half of her felt distant, and the other half felt still caught up in everything. Yggdra paced back and forth across the carpet, padding nearly silently in her bare feet. The fabric of her lacy beribboned nightgown floated ghostlike about her as she moved. After all the fighting, all the turmoil, it was so hard to believe she was here again, in her own home, safe. It was too surreal, and just wouldn’t sink in.

So she paced and thought, and thought and paced, until she grew so dizzy that she had to sit down, sinking against the cushioned window seat, clutching its edges with both hands. She needed to steady herself or she’d fall over, and she needed to remind herself what was real.

“Now, didn’t your healers tell you not to push yourself?” a warm, gentle voice teased lightly from the doorway.

Recognizing it, Yggdra glanced up, startled. While she’d been preoccupied with her thoughts, two visitors had made their way to her rooms—Russell, dressed plainly in black breeches and a deep violet shirt and tunic, and Flone, in a white gown with a bright blue vest and paler blue petticoats.

“Oh… I’m just—finding it a little hard to stay still today,” Yggdra replied, taken aback.

Flone crossed the room in brisk steps and gently coaxed Yggdra back to her bed, tucking the sheets around her. “Your body is still a little unstable, and one of the effects of that is that your blood isn’t circulating as well. It will be easier for you to stay warm if you stay in bed for a little while longer, although you _should_ do some simple stretches to relieve your muscles every now and again.” So saying, she pulled two chairs up to Yggdra’s bedside, sitting in one as Russell made his way to the other. “You’re a little chilled—I may be able to help with that.” And she took one of Yggdra’s hands in both of her own, closing her eyes as her palms began to glow. Instantly, sweet warmth was running through Yggdra’s veins; she settled gratefully into her pillows with a sigh.

According to Milanor, Flone had stayed behind at Karona while Russell had traveled with the Royal Army, and had only joined up with them again when they’d passed through the castle a second time with Yggdra in tow. It was a little hard for Yggdra to believe, because it was so rare to see Russell and Flone apart—not only were they usually in the same room, but they had a need to be physically close after their forced separation by the Imperial Army. Their love for and devotion to each other was so obvious it was almost hard to look at them, as if Yggdra were staring into the sun.

_My parents had that once,_ she thought as she watched Russell smile at Flone, watched her smile back. _And—and someday, in the future, I hope I can have something like it. It’s rare for people to find true love, but I still wish that eventually…_

“There,” Flone told her, beaming, and settled her hand back against the sheets. “Isn’t that better, Princess?”

Yggdra smiled back at her and nodded gratefully. “Yes, much… thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank us,” Flone said, shaking her head.

“Flone is right—if it weren’t for you, we probably wouldn’t be here together right now,” Russell added, giving Yggdra a grateful look.

“But— _I_ didn’t do anything,” Yggdra protested in confusion. “Milanor and the others helped you—I haven’t done you, or them, any good at all… I haven’t done _anyone_ good in quite a long time.”

“You mustn’t think things like that, Princess,” Flone chided. “Consider it this way—if you hadn’t been captured, Milanor and your men would never have traveled through Karona, and Russell would never have been able to lead them to where I was. He could very well have died fighting the Royal Army, if that had happened. There is plenty of good that came from all of this.”

“Also, I think everyone’s been so caught up in scolding you for letting your heart get the better of your head that sometimes they forget you didn’t capture yourself. You didn’t ask for what happened to you,” Russell said firmly. “Gulcasa and his men are the ones who decided to trick and ambush you. Maybe you would have acted differently in that situation if you had been calmer, but even that’s on their heads instead of yours. Let the blame fall where it ought to fall first and foremost.”

Yggdra felt her face redden and looked down at her hands. “Th-thank you. Um… how is everyone else doing? Milanor and the others—how are they settling in?”

Flone giggled; Russell shook his head and gave a soft, low laugh. The sound made Yggdra feel warm all over, and she was struck both by what a lucky woman Flone was and how cruel it had been to separate these two, even if it had been a tactical necessity for Gulcasa and the Imperial Army. It might have prevented the need for any loss of life, but Russell and Flone fit together so perfectly that the idea of separating them seemed fundamentally wrong.

“Milanor and his thieves are enjoying their new home, although I can’t say Milanor is enjoying having Durant teach him the finer points of etiquette, which Durant insists that he learn if he intends to stay here. Nietzsche likes the fountains, and the fact that there are lots of places to hide from Pamela.” Flone giggled again at this, as though it brought to mind a few amusing incidents.

“Lady Rosary is still futilely trying to establish a reign of terror over the castle scholars, while Ms. Mistel enjoys the attentions of the young men and the idol worship of the young women… and has all but paved the practice courts with the skulls of any and all unfortunate enough to suggest she’s nearing middle age.” Russell shook his head tragically, which seemed to be more of an opinion of people who commented on ladies’ ages than on Mistel’s sensitivity about hers. “Lord Roswell, meanwhile, is finally getting the bed rest he should’ve had long ago. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that almost all of his wounds from Verlaine and the recapture of Paltina have healed.”

Yggdra sighed, pressing both hands to her chest, feeling a weight lift from her mind. “Is that true…? Thank God… I’ve been so worried…”

Flone nodded. “He’s been recovering fairly well on his own; I’ve been treating the worst of his injuries myself, and he’ll be back to normal again in a week’s time or less. He’s always asking about you—so are the others, even Cruz, Pamela, and Elena. It’s definitely going to ease their minds to know you’ve been up and about, even if you’re a little premature about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it—besides, I’m sure you’ll be more careful in the future so that this won’t happen again,” Flone told her with a gentle smile.

“Yes,” Yggdra promised, feeling thoroughly chastised. She doubted that she would be able to look at enemy movements without a lot of suspicion ever again.

“Actually…” Russell paused, then looked to Flone, who nodded. “We didn’t just come this way to say hello or see how you are. Flone and I have a favor to ask of you.”

Yggdra nodded. “If there’s anything at all I can do for you, then please…”

Flone frowned. “I hate to tell you this, Your Highness, but… while your army has all the power it needs to push through any obstacle in their way, your medical division is a fair disgrace. Your soldiers know how to put together field dressings, and Roswell’s not bad as an herbal healer—though he’s only half-educated at best; I’d dearly like to know what interrupted his studies—but that’s all you have. Over the course of this war, you’ve lost soldiers to injuries any _professional_ healer could easily have treated, and if you’re ever to fight again, that kind of thing can’t continue. The lives of royal soldiers are more valuable than that. So, the next time you leave and you expect battle… I’d like you to take me with you.”

Seeing Yggdra’s stunned expression, Russell went on for his fiancée. “It may not seem like it, but Flone is one of the most powerful clerics this country has seen for decades. She has a great deal of magical power, and with her faith, she can use it to heal wounds and disease that would otherwise kill those who carry them. She’d be a great help to us all.”

Yggdra nodded. “It’s… dangerous, though; are you sure you want to risk…?”

Flone shook her head. “At one point or another, I’ve treated most of the Imperial Army for their own battle wounds and sicknesses,” she explained. “Aside from Leon’s men, who are gone now anyway, the Empire’s soldiers are honorable; they would never consider attacking any healer, let alone one who has helped them in the past. Besides—I doubt that you and the others would ever let them get that far, Princess.”

“She’s being modest,” Russell said. “Flone’s father was a knight. He was my first commander. With military in her family, she knows what she’s getting into.”

“It’s true that I would rather help people than hit them with pointy sticks, but yes,” Flone said. “If any part of your worries are about my ability to cope with seeing the aftermath of a battle, there’s no need. I am used to seeing what that looks like.”

“And maybe it’s selfish of us, but both of us would prefer to stay together,” Russell continued, putting his arm around Flone’s shoulders. “If Flone needs to be protected, I’ll do it with my own two hands.”

“And if _you_ get into trouble, I want to be the one to pull you out of it,” Flone said with a smile, turning to her fiancé and putting a hand to his chest.

Yggdra was a little embarrassed by the undertone of trust and intimacy to their words, but more than that, she was honestly astonished. “Amazing,” she murmured aloud, without thinking. “It’s just—amazing. Most people would want to protect the one they love by keeping him or her as far from danger as possible, but the two of you…”

With his free hand, Russell reached out and gently tousled Yggdra’s hair, giving her a patient, almost brotherly look. “I want to spend the rest of my life at Flone’s side,” he explained. “If I were to shut her out now, when I know she feels as obligated and as caught up in this war as I do, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a real man. I trust her, even if I do worry. Besides—I can admit to myself that I’m weak. I don’t _want_ to be away from her if we have to leave again… not even for a moment.”

Flone nodded. “It may seem as though I don’t trust you all, insisting to come along and take care of Russell myself the way that I am, but it’s all of you I want to look after. And I know that all of you, Russell especially, would never let anything happen to me on the field.” She covered a giggle. “Besides, it’ll be a relief to everyone to know you’ve someone _competent_ overseeing your medical division from now on!”

Yggdra blushed a little and almost apologized for speaking so freely, then silenced herself with the knowledge that what had just passed between them was important. Instead, she folded her hands at her chest and smiled at Russell and Flone, meeting first the fencer’s steady gaze, then the cleric’s. “If that’s the case, I would be flattered to have you both along whenever it is that we have to move out again,” she told them. “Truth be told, I have worried about how few people we had with healing experience… it will be a blessing for us all to have you accompany us.”

Russell and Flone exchanged glances that sparkled with love and relief, then both of them bowed to Yggdra from where they sat. “Thank you,” Russell said for the both of them. “I’m sure you understand at least a little what this means to us. You won’t regret your decision.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Yggdra replied, smiling, then had to fight to stifle a yawn.

“You need your rest now,” Flone commented, obviously seeing right through her. “Please, stay in bed for the rest of today. The sooner you recover, the sooner the Kingdom can return to normal again… and the less everyone will have to worry for you.”

Yggdra nodded, and fought back a second yawn. Flone stood up and put her chair back where she’d found it; Russell followed suit, but set his against the wall, between Yggdra’s bedside table and the window seat. It was obvious that he thought others would be here sooner or later, and would want a chair of their own without having to cross the room for one.

Fencer and cleric said their goodbyes and headed for the door hand-in-hand; Yggdra gave them a sleepy wave, not trusting her voice. Still, as she resettled herself within the mass of pillows spread across the headboard of her bed, she watched as they left. Both of them nodded to her before walking outside, and Russell gently pulled the door shut. In the peaceful silence of the room, Yggdra clearly heard the click as the latch slid home.

_It probably is too much to ask, but… I still hope that someday, I’ll be able to have something like that myself,_ Yggdra thought as she closed her eyes. _If my parents had it, and Russell and Flone have it, then I’m sure it’s not as uncommon as people think it is to find someone to love with the whole of your soul… someone you can trust so completely._

Soothed by the idea, Yggdra curled into the warmth of her bed and abandoned the room for kinder dreams.


	8. Strawberries in the Thicket

It had gotten to be habit over the course of the week. As such, nobody questioned Cruz when he departed from the castle dining hall, retrieved a stick of incense and matches, and left the boundaries of Paltina proper to venture into the outer edge of the forest.

It was a gorgeous day, warm and clear even though generally the mornings started to get a little nippy around this time of year. As he walked, Cruz breathed in the ghost-summer air and stared up into the blue, blue sky, tracing clouds with his gaze and deciding what they looked like. One was like a castle, another like a bridge, and another like a rabbit. Birds twittered cheerfully through the treetops, weaving little melodies that put a light bounce in Cruz’s step.

Yes sirree, today was just one of those days that made you appreciate the fact that you were alive.

Whistling idly to himself, Cruz passed into the circle of the trees. Forests always smelled sweet this time of year as the pines unfurled their needles and fruit trees ripened; after all the months he’d spent in a makeshift fortress in the middle of Marduk, Cruz guessed he’d always feel at home in the trees. The dapple of the light through the leaves and branches warmed his heart just as much as fire snapping on the hearth did for other people, and birdsong stirred him the way minstrels’ ballads stirred others. He’d missed the stone-and-earth cities of Karona, sure, and the people of Paltina were plenty friendly, but he felt so much more at ease in places like this.

Cruz headed down the footpath through the trees into a small cleared space further in. It had probably been an actual clearing once, but now the trees grew closely around it, and only a little light spilled onto the weathered lithograph standing within a ring of wildflowers on a pedestal and steps. Cruz slowed his pace respectfully as he neared it, and set his incense in the candleholders. With the silver pitcher next to the lithograph, he filled the white clay saucer, scooped a palmful of soil, and set the tiny tuning fork upright in its bed of flat, smooth stones. He lit a match, set the flame to the incense, and sounded the tuning fork, then knelt and folded his hands.

Bowing his head, Cruz half-closed his eyes and let the peace of the incense seep into his heart. As the tone fell to silence, he began slowly and clearly to pray.

“O great earth, our mother…”

When he was finished, he stood with a satisfied sigh and watched the incense burn out. A week ago, when the Royal Army had first arrived here, he’d heard Durant talking about this little shrine in the woods, and ever since, he’d paid it a visit every day. Even though it wasn’t fancy or particularly well-kept—not here, where most of the population were Meria believers and had fine chapels to visit—there was just something about this little shrine that made a nest in your heart. Besides—Cruz was here to speak for the souls of his men, and all of them had lived and died by the simple ideals of honor and loyalty. This suited them better than pomp and circumstance, and Cruz was pretty sure they would appreciate his gesture no matter where he prayed.

Another man might have held a great deal of bitterness over the deaths of so many of his comrades, let his chest fill up with thoughts of revenge, or turned to drink to escape the loneliness. Cruz did none of those things. He’d cared for his men very much; they’d been dear friends to him, a band of blood-sworn brethren fighting the good fight to protect what they loved. He’d grieved for them all, and remembered every one fondly. But being a born and bred citizen of Karona, Cruz was no stranger to the sad realities of war. Hating the enemies he’d fought for the loss of his men—holding a grudge for a long time—would just dishonor them all. It was better to live, to continue fighting for the ideals his friends had all upheld with a clear mind and pure intentions.

And that went double, now that Karona was finally free from Imperial rule.

When he fought, Cruz knew the ramifications of what he was doing, and accepted the responsibilities. There weren’t many soldiers who shared his pragmatism, but though even some of the more formal soldiers in the Royal Army looked askance at Cruz’s laid-back, tranquil acceptance, it wouldn’t change the way Cruz felt.

So when he came to pray, he wished only safe passage for his friends and for their happiness in the afterlife. He didn’t promise that he would make Bronquia bleed, or the Imperial Army pay tenfold, for their deaths—he just promised that he would keep what they had stood for alive for as long as it was in his power.

“I hope you’re all taking it easy and having fun there,” Cruz told the lithograph, giving it a smile and a wink. “Me, I’ll do okay. See you tomorrow.”

But as he turned to head back down the path, footsteps crunching in the brush told him he had company. Standing where he was with a hand on his belt, Cruz watched with amazement as none other than the princess ducked carefully through the branches to the shrine.

When she reached him, Princess Yggdra gave Cruz a slightly uncertain look and a respectful little bow before she reset the four elements of the shrine and began to burn her own incense. Fascinated and a little bemused, Cruz watched as his new commander spoke a hesitant but meticulous prayer in a language he wasn’t familiar with, then bowed deeply to the stone from where she sat, her hands flat on her folded legs.

Finished, the princess stood, folding her hands once more. “Go in peace,” was all she said.

There was a short moment of relative silence as Cruz realized from the princess’ demeanor that she, too, was probably praying for lost soldiers and allies. He’d thought at first that she might have been addressing her parents, the late King and Queen, but then he’d remembered hearing palace staff saying that Princess Yggdra had sworn she would not pray for her parents’ souls until she’d avenged their deaths. Besides, when she did she’d probably want to do so in a church, since Ordene and his wife had been Meria believers like she was. It was right and proper to bless the dead according to their own beliefs. So at the least, the object of her prayers had to have been animist like Cruz and his comrades.

Honestly speaking Cruz wasn’t altogether comfortable with the kind of desire for revenge Yggdra had, but he supposed the Princess was entitled—she’d been a sheltered girl when war had broken out, not a soldier like him. And she’d lost her only family so violently, it was probably all she could do to keep herself going right now.

“I wonder if—it reached them,” the princess said quietly. “Do you suppose it might have?”

“I’m sure it did, Princess,” Cruz told her with a smile.

Yggdra nodded. “Thank you. Even though I never met them… your men fought so hard, for the same things that I did. I want to believe that my words can bring them peace… if only a little.”

Touched, Cruz found himself momentarily speechless. “…I know they’d like that,” he managed at last, feeling his cheeks flush a little.

The two of them began to head back out of the woods in a silence that rested a lot more comfortably than Cruz would have expected. The princess was chewing at her lip a little as they walked, and fidgeting with the folds of her dress, but Cruz didn’t ask; if she wanted to tell him what was on her mind, she would eventually.

After a few more moments, she sighed unhappily. “I… have to confess, I didn’t just come here to pray. I was looking for you, and the men told me that I would likely be able to find you here.”

“Really? So what’s up?” Cruz asked, beaming a friendly smile down on her.

“I—I fear I owe you an apology, Cruz. We—I.” She sighed again. “And here I go, making a mess of things. What I mean to say is that the Royal Army must move out again in a few days.”

Cruz’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? But we barely even got back—and you and Roswell are, like, _just_ out of bed! Is that gonna be okay? Did something happen?”

“One of the old women of the palace—she’s known as Mother Paltina to my family—has the Sight. She prophesied that a great catastrophe would result from the ritual Bronquia used me to perform unless we stop them beforehand. According to her, we need the full strength of the Holy Sword to do so, and so we must make for Lombardia with all haste. To use the Gran Centurio’s full potential, she says… I have to be crowned ruler of Fantasinia.”

The grimace on Yggdra’s face said she was clearly still uneasy with the concept. Cruz could understand that—only a few months ago she’d been living with the certainty that her parents would continue to hold the throne for years and years, and that she wouldn’t inherit until she was an adult with a family of her own. Things were moving so much faster than they would have, due to the war.

“The timing is truly wretched—just when we were beginning to recover from all the fighting—but this can’t be avoided. I’m truly so sorry about this…”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Cruz said with a shrug. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do, Princess. If you believe this seer’s for real, then we’ll do what we can to help stop whatever the Empire’s doing this time. You just say the word, and we’ll help you all you need.”

Yggdra pulled a face. “Still—I don’t feel quite right demanding so much of everyone. You’ve all barely had any time to rest at all… and so many of our men have already lost their lives in all this awful fighting.” She glanced significantly in the direction of the shrine they’d just left. “So—how in good conscience can I…?”

Cruz just shook his head. “You know, you’re gonna make a really good Queen.”

“Huh?” Yggdra blinked, taken aback.

“It’s just, like—the way you came out here. You made sure to pay your respects first, and then when you tell me we’ve gotta get going again, you’re all apologies about it—and they’re sincere. You know this is something we have to do, but you’re as worried about your soldiers as you are about getting this done. You care about your people—and that’s half the fight, right there. All the best kings and queens’ve always been the ones who’ve loved their people and done their best by them.”

“Do you really think—that’s enough?” The Princess still seemed uncertain, but she had a hopeful look on her face.

“’Course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Cruz reached out to give her a pat on the shoulder as the two of them emerged into the brilliant sun. “You know how to lead, and you know how to care. Everything else, you can pick up on the fly. I’m not worried.”

“Not even—because of all the fighting? You’ve already lost so much…”

“It’s okay,” Cruz said, shaking his head. “My men lived and died according to their beliefs, and I’m fighting to keep those beliefs going. That’s enough for all of us. And I bet this is the same for a lot of the others, too—I get a lot of peace of mind from knowing that if anything happens to me out on the battlefield, you’re going to keep _our_ ideals alive or die trying.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Well… we’d have a lot more peace of mind if you didn’t die, obviously! But, hey. With all the people you’ve got watching your back, things’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right,” Yggdra said with a sad smile. “And… thank you, Cruz… for understanding.”

“Eh.” Embarrassed, he shrugged one shoulder. “Milanor helped us out of a rough spot, and you’re a good person. My boys and I would be happy to pay back a little of what all y’all did for us, setting our hometown free. We’ve fought for less and in way more hopeless situations before, so that’s more than enough for us.”

Yggdra nodded, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.


	9. Desert Clover

“It’s so goddamn hot,” Milanor moaned, resting his head on his knees. “This _fucking blows.”_

Yggdra said nothing, but even though they were finally in the shade, she was inclined to agree. She wished mournfully that she had a different outfit to change into, or that there were at least some part of her heavy dress she could remove without affording an impression of impropriety. As it was, all she could do was try to pull her hair up off the back of her neck so it wouldn’t stick.

“Perhaps it would be best to start out for the city of Ranquet in the evening, and travel through the night,” Mistel suggested faintly. “I don’t know if our soldiers can stand another few days of this, Princess. At the very least, Roswell can’t.”

Yggdra nodded. “Yes—that does seem as though it would be wise,” she managed. Her voice sounded distant and tinny in the heavy, choking humidity.

A clammy hand rested weakly on hers; Yggdra turned to glance down at the cot she sat beside, meeting Roswell’s fevered gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he got out between labored breaths. “I’m—just slowing everyone down again…”

“You’ve got _that_ right,” Rosary said sourly from the other side of the room as she shrugged out of her long white coat and threw it on the floor next to her chair.

_“Rosary,”_ everyone else hissed in tones that ranged from indignant to appalled to annoyed.

“I’m just _saying,”_ she retorted defensively.

Yggdra turned her back on the witch and lifted Roswell’s hand to brush a light kiss over his knuckles. The gesture came to her without thought; she remembered her mother doing the same with her during her childhood sicknesses. “Don’t listen to Rosary, it’s just the heat making her irritable,” she soothed. “We all need a rest, so it’s not a bother. We should have started traveling at night in the first place, and saved you all this trouble. Just be still and get your rest, now.”

The heat had been taking its toll on her army ever since they’d first ventured into the vast deserts of Nyllard, but the fight with Dort’s bandits out under the baking sun had just proved to be too much. As they had advanced down the road to the town of Sornetta, Roswell—who was unquestionably suffering the worst from the heat—had collapsed. Flone had rushed to examine him, and had informed Yggdra and the others that Roswell was suffering from heatstroke. Alarmed, the army had taken the last few miles to Sornetta at a sprint, which had unfortunately utterly exhausted all of them.

Still, they’d made it, and now Yggdra and most of her commanders sat or lay around the room as Flone tended to Roswell. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was starting to set, but it still felt far too hot to do anything else.

With a little groan, Yggdra leaned back in her chair. She watched Flone remove her glowing hands from Roswell’s, dip a cloth in the bucket of water at the foot of his cot, and lay it out over his forehead. His eyelids fluttered, but other than that he didn’t react. His color was starting to come down, though, and that was a great relief. Yggdra had been through Nyllard a few times before when her parents had done ceremonies in the religious districts of Lombardia, and she knew what this kind of heat could do to people.

_Poor Roswell,_ she thought sadly, squeezing his hand once before letting it rest on the side of the cot. _He tries so hard, and yet all these things seem to keep happening only to him… I’m sure that if we continue to press on like this, the others will begin to suffer, as well._

Furtively, Yggdra snuck a glance towards the other end of the room, where Milanor’s friend Kylier lay stretched out on her back along the rug, lazily fanning herself with a loose sheet of parchment. _When Ms. Kylier decided to come with us, I knew this might be my only chance to make a good impression, and start over from what happened at the Capital… what_ must _she think of me? Only the worst kinds of commanders allow these things to happen to their soldiers, surely…_

It was a new experience for Yggdra, being disliked so intensely by anyone she wanted to have a good relationship with. She wanted to mend their fences, but had no idea where to start and was beginning to have the feeling that they were beyond repair.

But—for Milanor’s sake, she didn’t want this awful awkwardness to continue. It had to be hard for him, being torn between two friends and their conflict like this.

If only there was some way to get past all this awful tension—but a way to do that, like almost everything else lately, seemed to keep slipping right through Yggdra’s fingers.

And now Roswell was like this, and she’d been told by the townspeople that she could expect many more encounters with bandits on her way to Lombardia. Why did this have to happen _now?_ Even as she’d mustered those forces she could spare, Yggdra had always thought that it would be her _coronation_ that would be difficult, and that only for her—not the journey towards it. She had been so filled with trepidation over the trials she would have to face in the Holy Land that she hadn’t taken into account that this desert was going to be a trial for everyone.

_I don’t want these people to bleed for me any more than they already have,_ Yggdra thought miserably, watching as Roswell’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the loose white shirt the locals had given him to wear. _But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to stop all of this… it’s like trying to hold a breaking dam together with just my own two hands!_

“Hi, everyone!” a cheerful voice trumpeted all too energetically from the doorway.

“Ho boy,” Yggdra heard Milanor grumble, and she looked up to see Pamela striking a silly-looking pose in the doorway.

“How can you be so peppy in this heat?” Rosary demanded, glowering at Pamela.

In response, the witch poked her tongue out. “’Cause the great Pamela isn’t a stick-in-the-mud old granny like you, that’s why! Come on, everybody! Why are you looking so gloomy? It’s not _all_ just ‘cause it’s hot, _is_ it?”

“Well, it… is a little overwhelming,” Yggdra said tiredly, barely able to expend any effort to keep the peace.

Flone raised her eyebrows mildly. “If you’re going to be in here, you’ll have to be quiet, Pamela,” she said in a low and patient tone. “If he can’t stay relaxed, Roswell won’t be able to travel by nightfall.”

The young witch shrugged, then beamed. _“Aaaaa_ nyway, if the heat’s such a big problem, then the great Pamela’s got a solution for you!”

Kylier raised herself up on her elbows and gave Pamela a somewhat jaundiced stare. “Yeah, and what’s _that_ supposed to be?”

“This!” Pamela waved her hands, and a wooden bucket floated into the room from behind her, emptying its contents over Kylier’s head.

From the griffon rider’s shriek, the water had been very cold indeed, and there was nothing short of bloody murder in her eyes as she leaped up and screeched, “I’m gonna _kill_ you for this, you stupid Pamela!”

Pamela fled, giggling madly. Swearing vibrantly, Kylier gave chase.

With a little groan—could things _possibly_ get any worse today?—Yggdra heaved herself up, gathered her stifling skirts, and managed to trot after them.

_God,_ how had it managed to get even _hotter_ out here even as the sun formed a scarlet hemisphere on the horizon? Panting and wondering if she would pitch face-first into the sands the way Roswell had if she stayed out here much longer, Yggdra picked up her pace as she drew closer to Pamela and Kylier. The two girls were wildly circling the town fountain, Pamela still laughing and Kylier still spitting obscenities.

“Please, you two…!” Yggdra called as she drew closer. “You’re only going to wear yourselves out more if you keep…”

“I’m gonna _kill_ you, you stupid—!” Kylier yelled as Pamela zipped past Yggdra. Moaning, Yggdra reached out and grabbed hold of Kylier’s upper arm, restraining her.

“This is no place for…” she began, but Kylier ignored her, tugging viciously for freedom.

“Lemme go, I’m gonna _disembowel_ that stupid…!”

_“Please_ stop,” Yggdra begged. “You’ll only make it worse and then pass out yourself; Milanor is having a hard enough time of this without having to worry about…!”

Kylier’s cheeks darkened, and she whirled on Yggdra, her pale eyes positively sending out sparks. “Oh, and what would _you_ know about what Milanor—?”

“You guys are no fun,” piped Pamela, her voice almost right in Yggdra’s ear. Yggdra and Kylier both jumped back, and Pamela reached out to give them a little shove that landed them both in the fountain with a riotous splash.

Yggdra spluttered and thrashed and jerked her head above water, shaking with the strain. Her clothes had been heavy enough when they were _dry,_ and now that they were soaked through, they were at least ten or twenty extra pounds along her back and chest.

Kylier was already up and fuming. _“Why you little…!_ What was _that_ about?! Are you just an idiot, or is there _some particular reason_ you keep—?!”

Pamela, bent nearly double giggling, didn’t reply.

Yggdra coughed and struggled vainly for the lip of the fountain, only hauling herself over to it before the overworked muscles in her arms gave out, leaving her to sprawl helplessly over it with another long-suffering moan.

“Cripes.” Strong hands seized Yggdra’s shoulders and hauled her to her feet, taking roughly half the water in the fountain with her. “Are you okay? I dunno what that stupid kid was thinking…”

“I-I-I-I…” Yggdra coughed again, wobbled, and nearly pitched over from the weight of her sodden clothes.

Kylier’s grip tightened, and her brow came down in annoyance. “For that matter, what are _you_ thinking, wearing a dress like this in the desert? If you don’t change out of it soon, you’re gonna keel over. C’mon, get outta the fountain before you fall down again and drown this time.”

Too weak to do much more than totter and nod, Yggdra let Kylier pull her onto the sparse grass and sand, taking breaths so deep she felt lightheaded. And as the griffon rider brushed and wrung at their clothes with businesslike hands, she saw Pamela give her a thumbs-up and wink.

Yggdra blinked, then felt a sudden wave of gratitude wash over her. She’d spent so much time puzzling over how to solve things herself, she hadn’t even considered asking her comrades for help—yet here one of them had readily handed her an answer.

“Thank you,” she said, addressing Kylier but meaning Pamela as well.

“No charge. And _you.”_ Kylier turned furious eyes on Pamela, who was still standing there grinning. “I would really— _really—_ like to deal with you right now, but… I’m… going to go get a change of clothes before I get a cold or something stupid. And I need to make sure the heat’s not a problem for Al. Come anywhere the stables and I’m gonna adjust the position of your nose a little.” With that, she turned on a huff and stomped off, leaving a trail of drips and patches of water along the parched earth.

Yggdra stood still, dripping and wobbling and watching, until Kylier was out of hearing range, then turned to Pamela and nodded. “Thank you…”

“No biggie, Princess!” Pamela replied enthusiastically. “This stuff’s like the heat—just don’t let it get to you!” She paused, then giggled again. “Though, you should probably change into something lighter, really. You can borrow some of Pamela’s clothes if you haven’t got any!”

At this, Yggdra couldn’t help but giggle a little herself. “I… don’t think they’d fit me, but thank you anyway…”

“Then just take that big heavy top dress-thing off, and we can go _shopping!”_ Pamela exclaimed, flinging her arms wide with glee. “We’ve got time. Come on, let’s go!”

For a moment, Yggdra wanted to protest the absurdity of the idea. They were preparing for battle, travel, and all-out war; this was no time to spend money on superfluous things like clothes.

Still, she looked at Pamela’s brightly shining expression and decided better of it. She owed the girl for finding out how to end the day with Kylier on a cooperative note, and her formal attire _was_ far too hot to be practical in a place like this.

“Alright,” she said at length. “I’ll just… find something a little lighter to wear and we can go pick one or two things out.”

_“Yaaay!”_ Pamela actually jumped up and down and punched the air. “This is gonna be fun!”

Yggdra couldn’t help but smile. Everyone, it seemed, was doing what they could for her—if each in their own way.


	10. The Stars are Blurred

The battle was over.

Elena sat heavily and stared at her hands. They were still trembling, even now—she couldn’t stop them, didn’t know how she could even if she’d wanted to. The battle was over. The soldiers were carrying each other to places where they could be treated, so no one would see. It didn’t matter.

They’d been so steady, for so long. Elena hadn’t thought they would be, at first. All the way down the desert road to the coast, she’d let the doubts ferment in her heart, had wondered over and over if she could really do this. Against Leon, who’d been too far gone to save, perhaps—she had steeled her heart for that much—but to fight her own countrymen like this, when she knew and understood all too well the ideals for which they fought?

But her hands had been steady. She’d made her choice, her decision; she had to live with the consequences. So had Leon, so did the soldiers she fought—so did they all. She hadn’t faltered, hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t given in to the desire to turn tail and run rather than kill her own people.

She’d dealt death swiftly and mercifully, killing instantly and then moving on to the next foes. She’d done as she’d been trained to do.

Then she’d seen Zilva, and her heart had begun to hammer and her hands had begun to shake. Her teacher hadn’t noticed her, at first; she’d raised her crossbow for the swift kill in order to help her new allies, but her fingers had locked on the trigger and she’d found she couldn’t fire. She couldn’t turn, couldn’t even choose another battle to fight—she’d just stayed there like an animal in a trap as Zilva had seen her, whirled and tackled her, held her armored claws to her pupil’s throat.

And hesitated. Elena was sure she would always remember how her teacher’s eyes had narrowed as she held the killing edge of those razor-sharp blades barely an inch from her unprotected skin, how they’d flickered with something that could’ve been regret or distaste or anger. But Zilva had hesitated. Elena could have turned the tables then, killed her former commander, if she hadn’t been shaking, unable to move. Zilva, she was sure, had known it. And yet Zilva had still not finished her off.

They’d stayed that way for an expanse of time Elena couldn’t measure, two trained killers prevented by attachment and care from doing what they were meant to do. Then the Imperial defenses around the gate to Lombardia had fallen, and Zilva had jumped off and back, signaling the troops to pull out.

There had been more fighting—the Scarlet Princess, the Meriant soldiers—but to Elena it was barely more than a blur. She’d hung to the back of the forces and shook like a leaf, all the while.

Even now, she couldn’t do anything else.

“Elena.”

Elena jumped, startled badly, and turned to where the Astral Fencer Russell was standing nearby, watching her as he cleaned his sword.

“Is everything alright? You look… well, you seem in a bad way. It’s not like you.”

Elena hesitated for a moment, but came to sit on the edge of the fountain he was standing beside. She’d fought several battles with the Royal Army now, and even lived with them as though she were native to Fantasinia for a little while, but she still found most of their number difficult to talk to. Even though their air of suspicion had vanished after she’d helped them escape from Lost Aries, she just didn’t consider herself one of them. Not yet. Not really.

Russell, though—she was easier with him than the others. They’d fought beneath the same banner before, and she knew what kind of man he was—but more, even though he hadn’t done it of his own free will, he’d still fought on Bronquia’s behalf. He knew why it was they fought, and so even if it was just a little bit, the dragon of the empire had taken roost in his heart.

“…Sir Russell, do you… think we can really keep doing this?”

Russell seemed to understand—his motions slowed until he rested his cloth against the balance point of his blade, then turned to give Elena a regretful look. “We can, because we have to. I don’t like it. There’d be something wrong with us if we were completely fine with it, you know. A little while ago, those people were our comrades. People we fought with, people we trusted and respected. But… as it is, even if you wanted to go back, they wouldn’t let you, and… my loyalty to the Kingdom is stronger than to the Empire.” He looked back at his blade, resumed rubbing it down. “I imagine it’s probably a lot harder for you than it is for me, though.”

Elena rested her face in her hands. The trembling shifted from them to her shoulders.

“I saw you and Zilva facing off earlier. Elena—you shouldn’t go after her again, not if you can help it. She means too much to you for you to be able to fight her, and even I could tell her emotions were getting in her way, too. But circumstances might force your hand, or hers. I don’t know if you could live with having to take your mentor down.”

“I thought… if I could just end it quickly…” Elena sighed, knowing that her pain was perfectly audible in her voice. Was it not enough that she had to falter in her battlefield duty to those who had taken her in, without disgracing the effort Zilva had put in to train her, too? “But I couldn’t. I can’t. And yet I can’t turn back now; I’d be twice the disgrace I already am if I tried. This is… the path I chose; everything else is closed to me now.”

Both of them were silent for a while.

“Russell…”

“Uh-huh?”

“How are we going to be able to fight… if we have to face _him?”_

There was a long silence from Russell; Elena peeked up to see that he’d stopped polishing his sword again, and was staring off into the distance.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “To be honest with you… I’ve never been able to make up my mind how I feel about that. Even the way Flone’s taken everything, I think about what he did to us and I get so _angry,_ but I remember his ideals and I feel guilty about it. You Bronquians—it’s not like your hearts and the things you want to do for the world are wrong, or different from us Fantasinians. It’s just that his methods are wrong.

“Despite it all, I… I think I’d rather not face him. As a warrior… and as a man… he’s someone I can respect, even if I can’t like him or forgive him.” A pause. “And there’s honor to think of, too, isn’t there? I mean—it doesn’t exactly feel right, fighting someone so much younger than I am.” Russell added this as though he was attempting light humor, but the smile died on his face.

Elena said nothing. She could hear how conflicted even Russell was, and he hadn’t lived through the revolution the way she had. He hadn’t lived in Bronquia in the years before. He didn’t, _couldn’t_ really understand the drastic change from living in fear to living in hope.

“There’s no such thing as good and evil in a war like this,” Russell said. “There’s only duty… and doing what you can within that duty. You know that. I know that. It may not make it any easier, but…”

Elena still didn’t answer him.

“You know… I’m probably not the best person to talk to you about this. Wait here a moment…”

And off he went, his footsteps crunching as he walked off the road and onto sand.

Elena rested her face in her hands again with another sigh.

 

 

“…Elena?”

For the second time, Elena nearly jumped at the sound of the voice, staring up into the wide, concerned eyes of Princess Yggdra. She would never have thought that _this_ was what Russell had meant to do when he’d said he wasn’t the right one to talk to her!

“Y..your Highness…?” she managed. Yggdra folded her skirts and sat next to Elena, completely heedless of the assassin’s utter surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Yggdra said after a long, solemn stare.

“Sorry… what does Your Highness have to be sorry for?” Elena managed.

“I don’t think I ever properly considered what you must be going through, fighting for us. Even though you are our ally, it was through more circumstance than choice, wasn’t it?”

Elena hung her head. Here it was—she’d known the others still felt this way. And could she blame them? Once someone turned traitor, they could never be fully trusted again…

“But the fact is that even though you are one of us, even though it’s easy to think of you almost as though you’re Fantasinian because of it… you’re still Bronquian. We’re fighting our enemies, but you… our enemies were your people once. Forgive me. I should’ve seen earlier the pain this has put you in,” Yggdra said softly, placing a gentle hand on Elena’s shoulder.

Elena couldn’t respond for a full half minute. “Your Highness…” she said at last. “I-I thought… for a moment, I…” She swallowed, shook her head, and tried again. “Please, Your Highness doesn’t need to be concerned about me… this was a choice I made myself, and because I was able to stop my brother, I’m willing to live with the consequences.”

Yggdra just looked at her for a moment. “That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve put you in a difficult position… remember that although you may be Bronquian, you _are_ one of us. You’ve proved that so many times over lately… and because you’re one of us, remember that if you’re suffering, you can always come to us when you need us. You’re a very strong person… and I admire that. I don’t think I could have done what you have. I don’t know if I could ever be brave enough to face down someone as frightening as Leon was alone, and I doubt I could have the resolve necessary to face down my own family. Still… even the strongest of us must lay down our burdens at some point.”

“Your Highness…”

“Just come to whoever of us you feel you can talk to,” Yggdra told her with a bright smile, squeezing her shoulder. “Russell or Milanor, for instance, if you’re uncomfortable with me. By giving us your allegiance, you’ve sacrificed home, friends, and family… so, let us compensate however we can. Okay?”

Elena blinked at her, overwhelmed with both a sense of gratitude and one of nostalgia.

Yggdra tilted her head slightly to the side. “Elena…? Is something wrong? I haven’t said anything to offend you, have I?”

“Oh—no, no, of course not!” Elena held up her hands and shook her head, flustered. “I was just… thinking. What you said… reminded me very much of someone…”

“Someone…?” Yggdra looked puzzled. “Who?”

Elena considered explaining, just for a moment. Surely it was just that Princess Yggdra didn’t know. If she said something, really let her new commander know what the Empire was fighting for…

But it was already too late for that, wasn’t it? To the princess, Gulcasa was her parents’ killer and a threat to her beloved kingdom first and foremost. It would only bother her, to be compared to man she thought of so poorly. And Yggdra’s conviction gave her people strength and courage. If Elena shook that conviction, it could negatively affect everyone in the army.

Besides, she already knew: Two people clashing when each thought they were in the right were not likely to back down for anything’s sake. She had learned that over and over during the revolution.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elena said. “Please forget about it.”

Yggdra cocked her head to the side, looking mystified, and then smiled, her eyebrows squinched inwards.

“This reminds me, Elena,” Yggdra said, “have you ever had the chance to speak to anyone about your brother?”

“Oh—goodness, Your Highness, I couldn’t impose on anyone like that! I know that the members of the Royal Army saw my brother as an enemy, and that he—that most of the harm he caused just prior to his death was against all of you. The fact of his death does not change that or take that away. I have no desire to make any of you uncomfortable.”

“I’m grateful for your consideration,” Yggdra said. “But, Elena, that leaves you with no way to alleviate your own suffering. We can’t have you break down under a burden too heavy to carry. Do you _want_ to talk about it? Please, just answer honestly.”

“Yes,” Elena said, surprising herself. The princess had told her to be honest, but this still felt somehow rude to admit.

“Well, all I can do is listen,” Yggdra told her, “but I want to do that for you if I can, after everything you have put yourself through for our sake. Though if you would rather speak to Milanor or Russell, since you’re closer to them—”

“No,” Elena said. “I mean—thank you, but I don’t want to bother them either. If you really are all right with listening to a fool like me talk about things that are no longer here nor there—”

“I don’t mind,” Yggdra said, and smiled. “Silly goose, why would I have offered if I minded? I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but truly—I’m not _that_ charitable a soul.”

They really were alike. It was painful, but a comfort also. Elena looked up at the sky, faint blue like lavender, and thought of where to begin.

“My brother wasn’t always like that,” she managed at last. “There was—goodness, the politics were very complicated, and I was still a child at the time—but our family were noble knights and soldiers. My parents and my brother both worked high in the army under—not His Majesty, but the previous emperor. But there was a scandal, and my parents were made scapegoats and wrongfully executed. After that it was only the two of us, and we were sent away from the capital in disgrace. My brother was—he had a head injury,” Elena said with difficulty, remembering the stink of burned skin and shuddering, her stomach giving a lurch. “The emperor’s soldiers branded him so that our shame would never be forgotten.

“And maybe it was just the trauma and the grief, or maybe his injury affected his mind, but that changed my brother.”

Yggdra, who had listened with grave quiet all as Elena struggled for words, made a soft noise. “I remember hearing somewhere that a strong enough blow to the skull can cause a man’s personality to change beyond recognition. So he wasn’t always like that, then?”

“No,” Elena said. “My brother Leon was always awkward, but he was a very kind and gentle person. I was happy, when it was still the four of us together as family. But it just didn’t last.

“I thought that after the revolution… after our parents’ murderer was dealt with, then perhaps my brother would be able to settle down again. But I was naïve. Your Highness… I would like to make this clear, but my brother is not the only member of the Imperial Army who feels—who felt pleasure in battle. In ancient times, ours was a culture that valued martial prowess and contests of strength. His Majesty and Her Highness the Scarlet Princess both enjoy to fight, in their own ways. Everyone is proud of their strength, because that strength can be used to protect themselves and their loved ones.

“But my brother—my brother, who was already called the Mad Knight by the time of the coup d’état, who lived to fight because it let him stay himself—I found out by and by that he felt pleasure not just from battle, but from hurting others. From inflicting pain on others, and crushing his enemies to nothing. Things didn’t calm down after the revolution. His Majesty decided that the fastest and most effective way to change the world would be through war and conquest. And my brother, who kept fighting, changed so that I could hardly recognize his former self.

“I couldn’t tell anyone, Your Highness. The others all had their hands so full, and I was afraid to confront my brother without help or strength of my own. His Majesty would… if I had brought in proof, he might have believed me. But he had already suffered through enough betrayal, and he relied on my brother so much that he wouldn’t have seen what was wrong on his own, I don’t think. His Majesty believes too much in the goodness of the people he cares for. I didn’t want to trouble His Majesty, so I decided that I would have to get stronger and do what I could by myself.

“The thing that my brother became in the end was a beast that had to be stopped, for the safety of everyone around him. But I wish that there had been some other way. He was the only family I had left. Studying under Zilva made me capable of doing my duty to the people around me regardless of my personal feelings. But I didn’t want to kill my brother. It’s just that there was no one who could do it other than me, and someone had to do it.”

It hurt to acknowledge that out loud. But it felt like a weight came off her shoulders as soon as the words left her lips and took flight.

Elena squared her shoulders and looked up at the sky. “I loved my brother. I loved Leon, and I killed him—both because of that and despite it. I think that it’s going to take me a long time to really work through everything I feel about him and the things that I’ve done. But, Your Highness, I also think that that’s only right and just. To have all of you take me in despite my being a traitor, that’s more kindness and happiness than I deserve. So the weight that I’ve taken up is a fitting punishment for me.”

When she glanced back down, Yggdra was still watching her intently and with grave respect. “Elena, when you speak of what you’ve done, you always talk of your betrayal. What would have happened to you, if you hadn’t joined forces with Milanor and the others?”

For a moment she was thirteen again, watching the newly crowned Gulcasa from behind as he sagged into Leon’s shoulder—Leon’s, because he and Nessiah were still fighting about his decision regarding the latest and worst betrayal that they had suffered. Then the memory was just a memory, and Elena tried to smile but failed. “My former army has—a very strict policy regarding betrayal. Because to turn traitor against His Majesty, in spite of everything, should be unthinkable. I expected to pay for my brother’s death with my own. I would have accepted that. The only reason that I didn’t give in to my master at that time is because I hadn’t yet completed my task.

“Your Highness, I’m sure that you would think it inhumane to kill even a traitor with very little question as to why they acted so. But our circumstances are different. I did—a very terrible thing. But—I couldn’t let my brother keep going any longer. He was my responsibility, and so.”

Determination came welling back up as she spoke. Yes, it would be very difficult, but she needed to see the consequences of what she had done to the very end, no matter what happened. To do otherwise would be irresponsible and an insult to both her former comrades and her new ones.

She still didn’t like the idea of hurting people who used to be on her side, and she was very unsure about facing Zilva or Gulcasa across the battlefield. But that was just like her guilt and sorrow over Leon, wasn’t it? Expecting those feelings to go away or resolve themselves automatically was surely the wrong thing to do.

“You really are brave,” Yggdra said. “I envy your fortitude, a little.”

Elena smiled and blinked, her eyes stinging. “Thank you… very much. For listening, and… for letting me see for myself… that Your Highness is a very good person. I feel better now, really. And please, don’t worry. I won’t let my memories and my doubts get in the way in battle. And if… they become too much to bear again, I know I can talk to someone about them. I…” She shook her head. “It’s… not as different here as I thought it might be. And it helps… just knowing that as part of the Royal Army, I still have a leader I can believe in.”

Yggdra tilted her head to the side again, but she smiled and nodded. “I’m glad to hear that, Elena.”


	11. Look to the East

The day was breaking.

Yggdra’s shoes rang on the cobbled streets as she flew through them, navigating the mazelike pathways of St. Meriata towards the field hospital. The horizon was flaring red-gold far off to her right, painting the white city in deep floral tones.

The coin-shaped ball of the sun was deep scarlet.

_The red dawn rising, the bloody night spent._

There was blood enough, and the scarring of weapons, of horses’ hooves and dragons’ claws. Places where cannon shells had exploded, and areas singed by fire magic. So much destruction. It seemed to haunt her wherever she went. Would she ever be free from it?

Would there ever be a day when she wasn’t running like this, so afraid for someone else’s life more than she was for her own?

That, and similar despondent thoughts brought on by her violent, sleepless night, were banished as she turned a corner and set eyes on the hospital at last.

There were a great many people in here receiving treatment. Her belly clenched tightly as she picked her way through rows of beds where men and women lay pressing bandages onto red-soaked shoulders or hips or backs, trying to stanch the flow of blood. Yggdra heard Flone’s voice, though she didn’t see the cleric, and thought she glimpsed Russell passing out supplies in the corner of her eye.

It took her a moment to find him. Beyond the fact that her mind was filled with the death Gulcasa usually wrought and her eyes were drawn to the beds with the worst cases, she hardly recognized him out of his heavy plate armor and chain mail. But at last she saw him in one of the beds at the very end of the row, propped against a series of pillows, all bandaged up and leafing through a book.

As she approached, he glanced up, his smoke-gray eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of surprise across his face, and he dogeared his page and set his book aside, running a hand through his short blond hair.

“Sir Gordon…”

“Your Highness—or should I say Your Majesty?” He smiled at her, unbelievably. “It’s good to see you back.”

Yggdra just shook her head miserably, and sat down on the empty bed next to his. “How are your injuries doing…?”

“They aren’t so bad. You forget—as a Temple Knight, I’m used to campaign wars. I’ve had worse.” He grimaced, then laughed a little. “Probably.”

Yggdra just regarded him despairingly.

“Now, what’s that face for, Majesty? It looks like a… rather interesting combination of sad eyes and the desire to tear into me, if I may be so bold as to say.”

She sighed. “Sir Gordon… I’m sure you’re well aware of this by now, but I can’t help but reiterate—it was an extremely foolish risk you took, attempting to halt the main force of the Imperial Army on your own. You were hurt very badly, and could easily have died. Gulcasa is well known for not showing mercy—and in its current state, Lombardia needs you now more than ever.”

“A man has duties over the course of his life,” Gordon replied easily. “What kind of people would any of us be, if we couldn’t see to our duties?”

“It’s beyond duty to try to play the hero, to endanger yourself so recklessly—and that’s something I’m sure you’ve been told over and over since you were brought here.” Yggdra sighed. “Sir Gordon, I’m sorry.”

“Now, what have you to be sorry for, Majesty?”

“Far too many things, it seems.” Yggdra shook her head, closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. The ruined holy city, and the blood she’d spilled on the altar of Welheim, weighed at her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that there was much more she had to do before then—and that nightmares would likely plague her when she tried.

They came so often now that she’d caught herself wanting to ask Flone for the drugs healers used to induce dreamless sleep. She was furious with herself for fostering such thoughts, such weakness; still, she couldn’t keep herself from wanting.

“We’re the ones who brought this war here,” she said softly. “Lombardia is such an old and tired land… it deserves better than this constant battle. And even though I so thoughtlessly brought bloodshed here, when the time came, I couldn’t stay here to defend it. When I left—when I left, I only had one responsibility, to see the Pope through safely… and I couldn’t even accomplish that. Apologies aren’t enough to make any of this better… but they’re all I have. Sir Gordon, I’m so sorry.”

“My Queen.”

It was said with reverence, with humor, and something like love. Yggdra blinked, confused, and glanced up to see that Gordon was smiling at her.

“That’s right, lift up your head. The crown is a heavy burden—all of us who’ve thought of the toll it must take realize that—but it’s not so heavy that you are permitted to bow beneath it. Keep your chin up, Majesty. If you continued past here selfishly, thinking only of the war you have yet to wage, we would blame you. Lombardia would blame you for our losses, and we would turn our faces from you. We would be prepared for that, my Queen; we’ve had that response from people in the past.

“But you—you have come here, grieving for our losses and taking all their weight upon yourself. And so, I and all others to whom you come with your self-blame will say to you… it’s alright. That you feel this way about what has happened here is enough for us. You couldn’t have foreseen what would happen when you came here… and it’s enough for us that you did the best you could.”

As she heard his words, Yggdra was struck with the intense desire to just break down and start to cry. She didn’t understand it; she knew she mustn’t give in to it. But she couldn’t keep looking at Gordon’s easy, accepting smile and keep her eyes from stinging.

“You need sleep,” he told her. “And I’ve a feeling you won’t get much in the next few weeks. Lay down your head for now; just take a short rest. You’ll be moving on soon enough.”

Yggdra couldn’t speak. All she could do was nod, and gingerly rest against the edge of his mattress as her heavy eyelids fluttered lower and lower until she couldn’t keep them open any longer.

 

 

Roswell found her there an hour later, curled up half on the bedspread and half sliding out of her chair, with Gordon paging through his book with one hand and lightly stroking her coiled braids with the other.

As he approached them, the knight looked up and nodded to him.

“You take good care of this one,” he said in a low voice. “In this country, we’ve known a lot of kings and queens, but this girl of all of them, she’s special. Don’t let her wear herself down. If Lombardia didn’t need me… I think I might be tempted to leave my men behind and fight with you myself.”

Roswell bent down and laid a hand to Yggdra’s shoulder; she shifted and murmured slightly in her sleep, curling up into his touch like a cat, but didn’t wake.

“We know,” he said at length. “We—all know her worth. So you needn’t worry. Even if she didn’t hold the fate of her country and all of ours in her hands… she’s important to each and every one of us. No matter what happens, we will ensure she makes it through this war alive and well.”

He stood and turned the sheets down on the empty bed next to Gordon’s, then softly and gently eased Yggdra into his arms. She turned towards him in her sleep, nestling close against his chest; a kind of light and warmth came into his eyes, and he was smiling slightly as he laid her down and tucked her in. He lingered for a moment over her—perhaps to whisper something in her ear, or to brush a gentle kiss over her hair—before he stood.

“For better or worse… she’s all we have now,” he said to Gordon. “So you needn’t worry for her. I’m sure you will anyway—I would, we all would, if we couldn’t follow her—but you needn’t, and that’s something you should know. We’ll keep her safe until the time comes for the two of you to meet again.”

Gordon looked at him for a while, then smiled and nodded. “I understand.”


	12. Having Set a Torch to the Sky

“Kylier?! Kylier! _Kylier!!_ Hey!”

The voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away.

 _“Kylier?!_ C’mon—say something!”

Her ears were ringing. Her ears were ringing, her arms and legs were tingling vaguely, and her back and chest felt like they were just one giant bruise. And the voice seemed to be such a long, long way away.

_“Kylier!”_

But it was getting closer. And it was Milanor—and he sounded really worried about her, which brought on an indistinct case of the warm fuzzies. As her head started to pound, she shook it tentatively in a very slow motion and tried to open her eyes.

“Kylier…?!”

“Mi—Milanor.” Her eyelids felt so ridiculously heavy—so did everything else, for that matter. But she managed to fight that heaviness long enough for his fear-whitened face to swim into view against a red sky torn with storms and smoke.

“Kylier…” There was a squeeze at her shoulders—Milanor seemed to be gripping them. It looked like he was sitting next to her, leaning down over her. “Kylier, you damn _idiot!_ What the _hell_ did you do that for, huh?! You’re so stupid!”

Kylier blinked, confused. Her head still felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. But more than that—were those streaks through the grime on Milanor’s face from _tears?_ It was a preposterous thought—she’d known him for years, and she’d never known him to cry—but she couldn’t think what else they could be.

There was something itchy on her cheek. It was distracting, and making it even _harder_ for her to think. But it was hard to raise her arm and make it do what she wanted it to.

“…Al…?” she managed to croak. Where was he? The last thing she remembered was flying with him, flying to… somewhere. Flying really fast.

“Shh. Don’t think, don’t look. You’re hurt bad—don’t worry about anything right now.”

There was something—something about the weird look on Milanor’s face—that put a deep and fundamental fear in her belly, something she didn’t quite want to approach. She didn’t know what was going on, but it was hard enough to figure out with this stupid itchy thing on her face that—

Finally getting her hand to cooperate, she dragged her arm over the barren ground and clumsily swiped her fingers over her cheek. They came away holding a bloody, grimy orange feather.

And she remembered. The siege—that magical cannon-thing—the attack. The _explosion._

“Al…?” she asked again, her voice starting to shake.

“Kylier—no, don’t look—”

As she turned her face to the side, Milanor turned it back towards him, holding up his other hand to block her view.

Still, she got the briefest glimpse of a sickly twisted hind leg soaked in blood, missing flesh and bone in several places.

“Al—oh, _God—”_

“Kylier…”

But her breath was coming in spurts and starts, and pain shot through her broken body as the tears spilled over. The thickness in her head got stronger and stronger, until there was nothing anymore but pain and confusion and horror.

 

 

Kylier jolted awake with a shallow gasp, staring at a blank white ceiling.

“Kylier?”

She knew _that_ voice. Confused, she pushed herself up stiffly, then turned to see Yggdra framed in the doorway.

“You’re finally awake—what a relief…”

Bewildered, Kylier glanced around. The room she was in was plain, and just had a bed and some chairs in it. Yggdra had changed out of her formal dress and was wearing instead a pale green dress over a white shift; she was carrying what looked like medical supplies. Kylier herself was in a loosely fitting nightdress with a blue stripe down the shoulder, and bandages across her chest and arms.

Yggdra had closed the door and was sitting down.

“Everyone’s been so terribly worried for you,” she said. “Milanor in particular—he’s asleep right now, but I’ll tell him you’re awake as soon as he’s up. He’s been in to check on you every day, and I can’t blame him—you almost died back there.”

Kylier just shook her head. “What… what happened? What’s going on? The last thing I remember—” _no, don’t think about it, don’t think don’t think_ “—was the fight at the gates… where is this place?”

“This is an infirmary we set up on the outskirts of Flarewerk,” Yggdra explained. “The battle—the _war—_ ended a little over a week ago. Right now, we’re just concentrating on helping the injured recover.”

“It’s… all over?” Kylier repeated. Was _that_ hard to absorb… She rested on her side with a grimace, still watching Yggdra. “So… I guess you finally got your revenge, huh?”

Yggdra closed her eyes and smiled a little, and slowly shook her head. “No.”

“Huh?”

“No, I… this place…” Yggdra shook her head again, looking at her hands. “I realized a while ago… I really realized for the first time just how right you were, about everything. I never saw—maybe I never wanted to—but I never noticed before just how badly Fantasinia has treated the peoples of this world that don’t agree with our values. If we don’t put an end to that kind of behavior now… then how can we expect anything to change in the future?” She stared up at the ceiling. “It’s—difficult to handle, but right now… what we can do here is try to help everyone who’s hurt. We’re treating the Imperial wounded here, as well as our own. The Imperial commanders who survived are all doing very well; they seem as though they’ll be fully recovered in a few months.

“And—Gulcasa…” Yggdra hesitated for a moment. “I’m not sure. He’s in worse condition than most… and he seems to have abandoned his will to live. There has to be some way to convince him not to give up… no matter what happens, I won’t stop trying.”

Kylier sat still and blinked at her, honestly astonished. “Well, not that this isn’t a nice change… but what brought this on? You walked into Bronquia still determined you were gonna kill him, weren’t you?”

“That’s true.” Yggdra laced her fingers together. “But when I saw how much the people of Bronquia love him, how they were willing to throw their very lives away for his ideals… I started wondering, and the things you’d said that time… along with things I’d heard from Elena and Russell, and things I myself have seen… they all started to make a lot of sense.

“In my anger, in my grief, I just covered my ears to everything you’d told me, and closed my eyes to the things I’ve witnessed on the journey that took me this far. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. But when we finally got this far, to Flarewerk, and you did what you did for us—it was enough to make me realize that there ought to be more options than just to kill or to be killed. And I wish I’d been more willing to think about all of this sooner, because maybe then some of the damage that we’ve done could have been avoided.

“But in the battle at the castle… when it became clear Gulcasa intended to sacrifice his own life to attempt to save his people—all I could think was that I had to stop this, I had to keep him alive, so that the same cycle of hatred that brought me to this place wouldn’t begin over again. I managed to prevent a handful of deaths—his, and some of his generals’. I’m not interested in fighting anymore. The calamity that the royal seer foretold has been averted. And too many lives have been lost.

“If we had ended this in violence, those lost lives would all be wasted. So, late in the game though it is, I thought that I—that we, that my army and I, we have to end this war in a way that all the sovereigns before me did not think to end wars. Mistel’s grandfather explained to me that conquest, and victory, and peace don’t always have to end in a pile of corpses. Just like everything you tried to tell me about justice, and—and the solipsism of the kingdom, I think I’m beginning to understand that, a little. I want to believe, I hope, that it’s not too late to try talking and listening and helping each other.

“Besides, even if I had killed Gulcasa, and razed all Bronquia to the ground, it wouldn’t change what happened to my parents, and all the other victims. It wouldn’t have brought them back to life.”

Kylier considered her as she spoke—it hadn’t been all that long since they’d argued back at Ishnad, but Yggdra seemed older somehow, wiser. She’d lost the stubborn, shortsighted ignorance that had driven Kylier up the wall and across the ceiling for good measure since the time they’d first really met, at the battle for the capital city of Fantasinia.

“Looks like you grew up a little,” she said, and let the approval in her voice leak through. “It’s a good thing. After all, you are the Queen now, huh? So it’s good you’ve finally smartened up some.”

Yggdra’s smile grew, and she ducked her head almost bashfully. “Thank you. It means a lot, coming from you…”

Kylier made a face. “Oh, please.”

“I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about your words a great deal. I want to learn from you. Milanor has always held you in such high regard… and I have so much respect for what you were willing to do for us. I don’t want to be the kind of sovereign who is capable of doing such horrible things to other nations as Fantasinia’s actions against the Vanir.”

Kylier considered pointing out how close Yggdra had come to being just the kind of queen who’d do things like that—after all, she _had_ kinda plowed through Bronquia without a second thought—but decided better of it. Yggdra had admitted aloud that she’d been wrong to do that. It sounded like she’d been through enough, and was finally ready to learn.

“Although… actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, if that’s alright…”

Kylier shrugged one shoulder, then winced as her stiff muscles protested the motion. “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

“There’s something you said at the battle for the gates of Flarewerk… what you told Milanor, when he asked why you’d come to help us then…” Yggdra paused. “You said… that it was better him than Gulcasa; what did you mean by that?”

The old bitterness twisted Kylier’s expression into a grimace, and she flopped back onto her pillows with a sigh. “Look, I was just… about that. If there’s going to be some kind of king or emperor or something who’s gonna rule over this entire continent… I just thought that Milanor would be better for it than Gulcasa would. Y’know. He’d probably be able to… consider the lower classes more. Things like that.” And the possibility of it, though it would be good for the world, was a deathly weight on Kylier’s chest.

“Er… I’m not sure I take your meaning?” Yggdra looked completely puzzled.

Kylier shot her an annoyed stare. “Well, wouldn’t he be? Unless you’ve been stringing him on or something stupid—he’ll wind up being a king, won’t he?”

“Eh?” Yggdra blinked. “Eh? Eh…?”

“You. And Milanor. Would probably make better rulers than Gulcasa.” Kylier forced it through her teeth and wondered if she looked as begrudging and murderous as she felt.

“Eh—you mean…” And Yggdra’s face flamed brilliant pink. “You mean…? Oh. _Oh._ Um… I-I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding…”

“Huh?”

“Milanor and I aren’t like that,” Yggdra said carefully, patiently, her cheeks a shade of pink that Kylier had only seen before on flowers and snooty noble ladies’ lips. “He’s my friend; he’s a very _dear_ friend to me… but he’s nothing more than that. It… would be a little like marrying my brother, to consider it… and besides, I’m certain that you’re the only girl he’s ever cried for.”

It was Kylier’s turn to blink.

“Huh? You mean—you mean that, all this time, he’s just been…?”

Yggdra nodded.

“A-and so all this time… when you’ve been…?”

Yggdra nodded again.

“L-like… marrying a brother, you said?”

Yggdra covered her face in both hands and nodded vigorously.

“Oh.” Kylier covered her own face. “Oh. Oh, God. Okay. Well, fuck.” She tried not to shiver, tried to ignore the way her skin burned beneath her hands. “Uh, since I seem to have used up both of my own, you think maybe I can borrow somebody else’s foot to cram in my mouth?”

Yggdra giggled.

“I mean— _shit,_ all this time I’ve been fantasizing about throttling you and peeling off your toenails and hanging you off a castle tower naked in the dead of winter and I had it _completely wrong?_ God, this is so humiliating. What kind of clingy, possessive, passive-aggressive evil stereotype girlfriend do I _look_ like?”

Yggdra kept giggling.

“And all this time I’ve been wanting to smack my head into the nearest wall over and over ‘cause for whatever weird reason I just can’t help but _like_ you—and a whole, like, third of my reasoning that I couldn’t like you has been me overthinking things all along? Oh, God. Somebody please just shoot me right now, and spare me the trouble.”

“We all make mistakes,” Yggdra ventured timidly, still giggling. “And—and I’m sure I would’ve felt the same way…?”

Kylier removed her hands from her face and stuck her tongue out at the young queen. “Hey, did I ask for an editorial?”

But she grinned, and Yggdra kept right on laughing.

“Well, shit. Talk about surreal. Least, between this and the other thing, I can stop trying to make myself hate you now, I guess.”

Still giggling, Yggdra wiped at her eyes. “I’m glad.”

“And I guess I can finally stop trying to come up with dumb excuses to follow you around. Since I know you’re not out to pilfer my Milanor behind my back, or anything.”

Yggdra nodded vigorously again. “I’m glad we could finally sort this out, at least…”

Kylier shook her head. “Yeah, really…”

“So… are you feeling better now?” Yggdra asked, smiling brilliantly.

“I guess…” Kylier set the heel of her hand to her forehead. “A little like an idiot, and… a lot like the past few weeks have just been some kinda screwed-up dream.”

“I’m glad.”

“’Course… now that you’re on the right track, and everything… you know I can’t just leave you to handle things yourself, right? There’s still a lot to settle before you can get down to working for peace. And, hey, somebody’s gotta go tell the Vanir and everybody in Marduk that you’re actually willing to listen when we talk. Who else can you trust for that?”

Yggdra shrugged, smiling warmly the whole while. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to force a discussion with the people my ancestors have oppressed without an intermediary. So I very much appreciate the offer.”

Kylier gave her a long look. When Yggdra realized the direction of her considering stare, she fidgeted a little and tilted her head like she was waiting for Kylier to explain.

“Look,” Kylier said, rallying her words. “The thing about the whole system your ancestors set up is that it’s messed things up for everybody. Obviously my people and others have had to deal with horrible living conditions because of that, and that’s one example of the damage that’s been done. Another is that you’ve basically grown up on a steady diet of poison and lies. You’ve realized that you’re fallible and that your ancestors are wrong, and you want to use your power and authority to change things. That’s good. It’s further than most nobles in your shoes get. But this is where the hard part starts, ‘cause you’ve got to learn how to do good instead of harm from the ground up.

“For instance, you’re ready to try diplomacy here, but Gulcasa and his people maybe aren’t in a condition to accept that right away. It’ll all depend on their feelings once he’s able and ready to talk to you. Everything shouldn’t just be on the kingdom’s terms.

“People might resent you. And what’s left of your court might fight you, feeling like you’re taking their power away instead of helping other people to get up to an equal level with you. It’s gonna be hard, and thankless, but if you’ve got the best interests of the world in mind you’ve got no choice but to try.”

Yggdra took a deep breath. “You’re probably right. I haven’t had the chance yet to think about where to go from here. All I know is that I’m tired of hurting others, and that I don’t know if I can trust the justice that I’ve been told I must mete out. I don’t think I understand what justice is, really. I don’t know if I ever have. But I think that if justice is meted out by a sword—even a holy one—the end result will just be that people will be harmed.

“I think that we… the kingdom, too, but the whole _world_ can’t go on like this. We mustn’t. We have to learn how to deal with this in a new way. If there is no precedent to rely on, we must create a new way ourselves. Even if it takes a long time, and it’s frustrating, and it seems impossible.” A frown creased Yggdra’s face, and she stretched her hands out and clenched them absently, as if unaware of what she was doing. “I don’t just want to repeat the war crimes that my soldiers and I have committed. I owe it to the people I have harmed to try to fix what I’ve done.”

“It’s good that you’re thinking about this stuff,” Kylier said. “You know, the other reason I came back to help you was—” She felt her face heat up and shook her head. “No. It’s probably stupid.”

“Oh—no, please don’t be self-conscious! I’ve been going on and on, and I know that I haven’t brought anything nuanced to this discussion.”

“It’s just that Milanor and I talked about you once,” Kylier said. “I’m not gonna lie here, part of the reason I got so mad after Ishnad was just because—look, I said that part of me has been wanting to like you this whole time. That’s because after traveling with you, after getting an eyeful of what you’re like while I’ve followed you all around to take care of Milanor? I could see that you’re not a bad person. Okay, you were frankly not a _smart_ person all the time, but you meant well. You don’t consciously think of Vanir like me and Milanor as inferior. You treated us like you treated everyone. You were naïve, but I thought that maybe you had potential. That just maybe, if you realized that this world’s the way it is after so many Fantasinian genocides, and if you saw that your throne’s built on corpses, you’d want to put an end to that. I should’ve known better, but I let myself hope that—no. This is really stupid.”

“Go on,” Yggdra urged. “Please.”

“I was hoping that without the influence of all those rich old men to corrupt you, maybe you could right some wrongs, and pave the road to a world where bloody wars like this don’t happen anymore,” Kylier said at last, staring at her hands.

“A world—with no war.”

“Like—I was hoping for a miracle to happen in some back corner of my head, and then you did the whole murder-is-the-only-answer thing, and I was mad at you for betraying my hopes and mad at me for hoping even though I knew better. But—” Kylier stared around the room, feeling too shy and annoyed to look Yggdra in the face. “But you stopped yourself in the middle of this war. It’s not perfect, and you’ve still done some awful stuff, like you admitted. Still, no ruler of Fantasinia has ever fought a war where they didn’t trample their enemy into the dirt completely before.

“So maybe I was right to hope and you have got the potential to change things in this world. Maybe if you and I had cleared the air sooner—” maybe without Milanor between them, Kylier thought but didn’t say, because even if being possessive of him was shallow he’d been the one constant good thing in her life and like hell was she going to joyfully hand him over to somebody else— “we could’ve talked about this and you’d have been able to listen to me sooner, too.

“But step one was examining your life decisions, and step two was stopping before you killed Gulcasa’s entire army, so step three is going to be finding a way to deal with Gulcasa peacefully as an equal, and it’s gonna be tough and there’s not much that I can do from a hospital bed but I,” Kylier shook her head. “The world as it is now sucks, and war sucks, and I am so tired of the status quo, and if you want to change things for the better too then I think we should do it together.”

Yggdra placed a hand to her heart and nodded.

“It’s an honor to have you with me, Kylier.”


	13. With Ashes On Thy Brow

Yggdra breathed in deeply to steel herself before she opened the door. She’d made sure to come dressed in light clothes that wouldn’t restrict her movements and had pinned her hair back and out of the way.

She didn’t think it would get to be a fight, but it was worth taking precautions just in case. He _had_ calmed down a little after she and the others had forced him to be still for long enough to impart the news that his surviving companions were improving and wanted to see him. Still, up until that point, he’d spent most of his time awake trying to hurt himself with anything and everything he could get his hands on, and attacking everyone who got too close. It wouldn’t do to let her guard down with him just yet.

Yggdra took another deep breath and opened the door.

 

 

_(A memory awaits her: Blood all over the far wall, smoking slightly, heavy splotches, one smear leading down to the floor where Gulcasa is slumped on his knees, breathing heavily with his eyes unfocused. Taking everything with sharp edges out of the room couldn’t stop him from trying to kill himself. It wasn’t creativity, Yggdra thinks, so much as desperation. Anyway, Gulcasa is a stubborn person, not a smart one._

_She clenches her fists and remembers her palms singed and aching, struggling with worry and anger and trying to find a handhold on the much bigger and stronger man that wouldn’t involve yanking his hair—the one time she tried that, he’d twisted, snarling and crying like a beast, and set himself and the room briefly on fire and even thrown up before his own exertion made him pass out—she doesn’t need to add a panic attack to head trauma._

_It’s easy for once because smacking his head against the walls one too many times has left him dizzy and unable to keep his balance. When he tries to hit back or get a grip on her throat he keeps misjudging the distance._

_She tries to hold a conversation. It turns into a shouting match._

_“Why won’t you let me die?” he says. “I have no interest in being your fucking trophy. I have even less interest than that in living on alone. All I can do for anyone now is die.”_

_“Use your damn head!” she says back. She remembers the rush of heat as her color came up. Her tutors would have cuffed her head and whipped the backs of her hands to hear her swear, but relinquishing her control and putting voice to her anger feels so good. “I am sick and tired of coming up with lies and excuses to tell to Emilia—and Luciana, and Aegina, and Zilva too, and the Flarewerk refugees and everyone—to explain why you aren’t well enough to come see them, if you’re really alive!”_

_He freezes. She can see the white all around his eyes as he searches her expression, shivering with effort. His pupils are still blown out, and his eyes look muddy orange instead of yellow. “You’re lying to me.”_

_“Even if you died, you wouldn’t be able to summon your god,” Yggdra says. Yells. She tries to control her tone but she’s so furious that if she doesn’t shout she might cry. Kylier warned her that this would be the hard part, but fighting to prevent Gulcasa’s every attempt at suicide has worn her down so much that there’s nothing left to regulate her voice with. “Your death isn’t worth anything to your people now. They need you alive.”_

_“You’re lying to me,” he says. “My family aren’t—they can’t still be alive. I know you, Princess, and you and your people hate my blood and say I can’t control my lust to murder, but you’re the real destroyer here. I’ve never murdered innocent civilians like you did. You would not have left my family alive. Fantasinia’s not that kind of kingdom.”_

_“You may have been right,” Yggdra says, “when you said there’s no way to erase the hatred and pain that has been built up between us now. But that does not mean that there is no choice but to add to it. I don’t want to be a destroyer anymore. Power wielded for power’s own sake cannot build. It cannot protect. I want to protect people, not hurt them. If I had let any more of your people die—if I had killed everyone and left you alone—I would just be repeating the sins of my country’s past._

_“Bronquia needs you. Your sister needs you. Stop trying to play tough! If you can’t live for yourself, live for them!”_

_“You’re lying,” he says again, but he’s shaking and his face is pale._

_“If you can’t trust my words any more,” she says, and holds his hands as tightly as she dares, “then you just have to get better and meet them for yourself.”)_

 

 

There was not blood on the walls today.

Gulcasa was ready for her when the door creaked open: Sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, dressed in the deep red pants and black sleeveless shirt she’d been told to give him, that she’d been told were one of the few spare sets of clothing he had left. He was staring at her—no, watching her, his eyes wary and measuring. There was mistrust in his gaze, but no murderous loathing, and his stare was reasoned instead of wild.

It was disconcerting, Yggdra thought, to be stared at so. Not with hostility, but like you were something the other person had never quite seen before and was trying his hardest to figure out. Especially when you were straining for understanding just like him.

It was like standing on the opposite sides of a wide room, or a divide. Never speaking, not really communicating, just reaching as if to bridge the vast distance between. Except that this was a lot more difficult to tear down than a solid wall, more difficult to cross than simple empty space. Just as Gulcasa had told her at the battle for the gates, as Yggdra herself had acknowledged, what stood between them was really an open wound: Acts and words of hatred and misunderstanding and prejudice and preconception and distrust and blood and death.

Yggdra wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to him.

After a few moments of awkward silence, she gestured timidly at Gulcasa and clasped her hands behind her back. “Um… are you sure you want to go like this…? I mean—would you rather change your bandages first, or…”

Gulcasa blinked, then turned his impassive gaze to the linen crossing his forearms and reached up to brush his fingertips across the heavier layer covering his throat. All three series of bandages were blotched heavily with oxidized bloodstains. “No, it’s alright. I see no need to conceal my state from her.” His eyes flicked back up to Yggdra. “Emilia and the others are the only family I have left in this world; they don’t deserve lies from me on something like this.”

Yggdra nodded and fiddled with the ends of her hair. “I see. Yes, I understand.”

Another silence.

Gulcasa reached out, closed one of his heavy hands around the carved bedpost, and pulled himself to his feet. A brief spasm of pain crossed his face, and had Yggdra inching into the room, worry a clenched fist in her chest.

He looked up. The desire to help must have been obvious on her face: something in his expression closed off. “I don’t need to lean on anyone. I can walk on my own.” Irritation in his voice and his eyelids lowering a bit said that this was an affront on his pride—one that he would have none of. Yggdra sighed. Her instinct was still to reach out and slide his arm over her shoulders, but they weren’t like that. A cease-fire wasn’t the kind of relationship where he would just allow her into his personal space. And as he wasn’t trying to take his own life now, she had no excuse to invade it.

She had hated it when his forces had made allowances and afforded her little kindnesses when she was their captive, Yggdra reminded herself. She could hardly blame Gulcasa for acting as she had back then.

Side by side, they walked down the infirmary halls in uncomfortable silence. Yggdra knew where she was going, and continually glanced up at Gulcasa as they went. Sometimes she could read him, and sometimes she couldn’t. Now, for instance, she had absolutely no idea what was going through his mind. She’d never known anyone who was quite as difficult to understand as he was. Was it his demon blood that rendered him so opaque to her, she wondered, or Brongaa’s influence on him? Was it her own insistence on thinking of him as alien, all this time? Was he reluctant to emote in front of her, aside from anger and that brief explosion of panic? Or was this just the way he was?

Watching him, she remembered the first time they’d laid eyes on each other—the night she’d seen him cross blades with her father in the middle of the throne room, watched her father stab him and watched him use their closeness to send his scythe tearing through the old king’s chest, killing him instantly. As her father’s body had fallen, he’d shrugged Ordene’s simple sword away from his side with a growled curse and shook his head as if to clear his hair of blood and sweat. At that point, he had raised his head absently, and their eyes had met. With his own blood and her father’s mingled on his face and armor, he’d looked inhuman and terrifying, and his golden eyes had been sharp and cold. She’d never hated or feared anyone as much as she had in that moment, and all she’d been able to do after that was run.

She’d fought him for Paltina only a few months after that, and all she’d been able to feel then was that same terror and hatred. She’d become his captive, and she hadn’t known what to make of the humanity she’d seen in him then. She’d watched him all but hollowed out by grief when he’d lost one of his generals—one of his friends, she supposed. She’d seen him fussing over his soldiers, play-wrestling with his dragon in camps, smiling when his bodyguards joked and being nagged by Aegina. And whenever they’d had to interact, he’d stiffened, taken on an air of sarcastic formality that she thought in retrospect meant that he hadn’t known how he was supposed to act around her any more than she had around him.

Yggdra _still_ didn’t know how to act around him, but that was beyond the point.

They’d still fought. Again and again, and each time he’d become more desperate. He’d been fighting not to subjugate her people, but for the freedom of his own. With desperation, he’d shown rage and recklessness, and finally she’d stood in Castle Bronquia with her soldiers pushing his back and her sword had begun to rapidly vibrate in her hands and she’d _felt_ the sense of inevitable defeat settle over his heart, had _felt_ his stubborn decision that no matter what it cost him he would see the battle won and his people safe. Had known that he meant to kill himself to see that happen.

She’d come back to herself numb and blurry-eyed with tears, knowing that she had to stop him. Not just to save the world from Brongaa, but to save him from his ancestor and from himself. That she had to stop him just to save him.

So Yggdra had chased him into the burning depths of the castle on her own, and between their skirmishes and his own failing body she’d managed to keep him from reaching the altar at the edge of the abyss. She’d gotten him outside with Milanor’s help, and had gotten his treatment started. Saying that he hadn’t wanted to cooperate would be a gross understatement. The first thing he’d done when he’d awakened had been to try to kill himself, and every few days saw a new suicide attempt.

But after the last time—after she’d finally been able to hold him still and lost her temper and they’d yelled at each other—the attempts had ceased. Judging from his continued wariness, maybe he still just wanted to make sure that she wasn’t lying about those who had survived. It was something, though.

Even so, they were still standing on opposite sides of the divide. This was an impossible man, Yggdra decided. He would let you in the slightest bit, just a few steps, and then he would shut down and close you out. It had been so long, and Yggdra thought she was beginning to understand bits and pieces of him better, but Gulcasa was still so hard for her to read.

Even as she thought it, he glanced down at her and his eyes narrowed.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Eh? No—”

“Why are you staring at me?” Not quite curious and not quite confrontational. Just annoyed.

Yggdra looked away quickly. “I’m sorry. I was—thinking.”

He made a noncommittal sound, and they lapsed into silence again.

Yggdra stopped, reached out and laid a light hand on his arm. “We’re here,” she said, and gestured to the door.

Gulcasa nodded, and opened it. He walked through without sparing her another glance. Yggdra followed him after a moment of hesitation, but stayed just inside the door as he continued to the chair she’d left at the side of the bed.

“Emilia.” He said it softly, even kindly, as he leaned forward, rested his hands along the sheets someone had smoothed back over her. She was curled up with her face half-buried in the pillow; Yggdra couldn’t tell by looking at her if she was awake or not.

Apparently, Gulcasa could distinguish; she opened her eyes and sat up as soon as she saw him there, then winced a little as the motion strained her mostly-healed wounds. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes moved back and forth as she took in her brother’s appearance and condition. From the doorway, Yggdra thought that with Emilia’s hair down, the resemblance between the siblings was stronger than ever.

“She wasn’t lying.” Gulcasa’s shoulders went up and then sagged as he breathed out. “God. Thank god. I thought—”

As Yggdra watched in silence, careful not to intrude, Emilia narrowed her eyes. Her lips pressed into a flat line that still betrayed their wobble. She lifted both hands and touched Gulcasa’s face, and for a moment she looked much, much older than her petite fourteen.

Gulcasa breathed in again and out again. Emilia leaned in and put her forehead to his shoulder. Both of them were shaking.

“You _promised,”_ was the first thing she said. “You promised you weren’t gonna leave me. You said we’d be together forever. You _promised.”_

“Emilia—”

“So what’s with all _this?”_ Emilia demanded. Yggdra couldn’t see her face, but from her voice she was crying or on the verge of it. “You can’t tell me you didn’t do _this_ to yourself! We made a _promise!_ Why were you gonna break it?!”

Gulcasa was quiet for a while. “I thought you’d already broken it,” he said. “I thought you were—I thought everyone was—”

“Well, we’re _not,”_ said Emilia. “We’re not. We’re alive. And you’re alive.” She reached up and hugged him, arms too short to make a full circle around her brother’s shoulders. Yggdra realized with a shock that Gulcasa was alright with his sister, at least, touching his hair. “—I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wanted to protect you and everybody else, but—I wasn’t strong enough. If I’d really—we wouldn’t even have gotten to say goodbye—”

“That’s _not_ your fault,” Gulcasa told her fiercely. His voice had gone hoarse. “I should be the one apologizing to you. I should’ve listened to you from the start. Taking care of everyone, protecting them, that’s my job. You shouldn’t have had to carry all that weight by yourself. If I hadn’t overdone back then, maybe I would have been strong enough to take care of everybody by myself. This could’ve ended without you getting hurt like this. Emilia, I’m really sorry.”

“You dummy,” Emilia said. “Your double standards really suck. This isn’t your fault either.”

 _I shouldn’t be watching this,_ Yggdra thought. As quietly as she could, she slipped back through the door, leaning against the wall just outside it. She listened as Emilia scolded her brother for taking on too heavy a burden and Gulcasa scolded her back for much the same thing. They talked for a little while too softly for Yggdra to hear, and then they laughed together in the way of people surprised that they still remembered how to do something so carefree as laugh.

Yggdra thought that if this was more or less the real Gulcasa, then his people must be right to love him the way they did. It was a kind man, and a good brother, who would dote on family the way Gulcasa so obviously did.

It was several more minutes before Gulcasa emerged from the room, and when he did he just looked at Yggdra in a way that said he clearly expected them to head back now.

“How is she?” Yggdra asked.

“Sleeping,” Gulcasa replied, and Yggdra peeked into the room to see that Emilia was indeed snuggled back into her pillow. He’d tucked her in, and given her the oversized teddy bear sitting on the dresser to cuddle. “She’s been stressing, and it’s worn her out. She should do better now she’s got less to worry about.” When Yggdra closed the door carefully, he began walking back, and she had to jog to catch up to him. “You seem to be genuinely concerned for her. The others, too. I appreciate that.”

Yggdra shook her head. “No, that’s nothing to thank me for,” she said to him. “If not for me they wouldn’t be like this—if I want to change the way that I handle things, it’s only right that first I need to work to repair the things that I’ve risked breaking.”

Gulcasa’s eyes were anything but distant or cold when he glanced at her—his gaze was open and honest as he sized her up. “…I appreciate that, too.”

They headed back to his room in silence, and Yggdra couldn’t think of anything to say to break it comfortably. Gulcasa didn’t turn to look at her again. When he returned to his bed and sat heavily on the edge, he exhaled mightily and closed his eyes. Yggdra would’ve just left without a second thought if she hadn’t noticed that his shoulders were shaking.

He took another long, shuddery breath and opened his eyes. There were tears on his face.

Yggdra stared wide-eyed for a moment. Then concern kicked in and made her ashamed of her surprise. “Gulcasa—”

“Don’t,” he said.

“Please, you mustn’t—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I _mustn’t,”_ he said, and there went the flare of color in his cheeks. Not shame, but defiance, Yggdra thought. “My sister is alive. I’m allowed to feel something because of that.”

He didn’t care that he was crying. Milanor would have snapped at her. Durant, Russell, or Cruz would have been ashamed. Roswell would have pretended, afterwards, that nothing out of the ordinary had happened—exactly the way he did when she had caught him trying to hurt himself. But Gulcasa didn’t seem to feel the need to hide.

There was something about that—about his pride and his openness—that filled Yggdra’s chest with a high, light heat: Strong and inexplicable, but not unpleasant.

She smiled. “Okay. You’re right.” A thought occurred to her, and she pushed her hair back awkwardly. “Would you rather I go?”

“No,” Gulcasa said. “No, I don’t really care.”

“Okay,” she said again, and crossed the room in slow, hesitant steps. He didn’t glare at her or really react at all. When she sat carefully at his side, he turned his head a bit to look at her from the corner of his eye, but that was all.

He didn’t cry loudly. He didn’t cry the way that it felt he had been crying, the night of the final battle—the long, bestial howl that rattled up from the Gran Centurio into her bones. His breathing shuddered, and sometimes he made faint sounds, but the heavy drip of tears from the edge of his jaw was for the most part the only noise.

“Thank you,” he said after several long minutes, “for my sisters’ lives.”

Yggdra took a deep breath. Some weight on her shoulders felt lifted. “I don’t—have to worry about your killing yourself anymore, right?”

“No,” said Gulcasa. “If your word—that you won’t kill my people—is true, then no. As long as I have what’s left of my family, no. Though I don’t see how it’s any of your business what I do with my life. It’s my own life. Whether to end it or not, that’s my own choice.”

Yggdra chewed on her lip for a moment. “That’s true,” she said slowly, “but I think—I think that the peaceful world I want to create, the world my friend Kylier wants, the world without any war… I think that that world would be better with you in it.”

He looked at her then. He’d already had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was stained red from crying. But his gaze on her was steady and almost made her shiver. The color of his eyes was inhuman, but Yggdra thought that it was beautiful.

“You said during the fight that a world ruled by power is empty,” he told her, apparently apropos of nothing.

“Yes,” Yggdra said. “I did say that.”

“You don’t understand what true power is,” Gulcasa told her simply. There was no malice, no enmity in the words. “No one has taught you that. But I had people who taught me that power is more than brute strength alone. Wisdom and courage are a part of power. So are kindness and charity and strength of will and understanding morality. Power is all those things and more.

“If you only understand power as force, Princess, then all you can do with it is destroy. All you’ll ever be able to do is harm others. But you said you want to protect. So this—it’s something that you need to learn.”

She listened to him, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with cold or fear creeping up her arms. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked carefully.

Gulcasa tilted his head to the side. His long hair swayed.

“What you said to me the other day reminded me of—” And he stopped. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Yggdra said. “You don’t have to tell me, but I would like it if you did.”

He straightened up, still examining her. Finally he narrowed his eyes slightly. “You reminded me of myself when I was your age, just a little.”

That answer took her off guard. Yggdra blinked at him. She’d never thought, before, to try imagining Gulcasa when he had been seventeen like her. But then, he wasn’t actually that much older than her to begin with.

He looked up at the ceiling and breathed in as if steeling himself. “You want to change the world so that it’s peaceful. I want to change the world, too. I want to make the world _fair._ I was able to change my country, but I can’t stop there. It isn’t good enough. I’d never be able to face the people who died to keep me alive unless I can do this thing.”

And he pushed himself back up, carefully, pain in every line of his body.

“If you want to change yourself too,” he said, and held out his hand, “there ought to be some way to make this work.”

Yggdra smiled. “Is this the part where the two of us try to be reasonable adults about the future of the continent?”

Gulcasa raised his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth started to curl in a way that looked like he was biting his lower lip to keep from smiling all the way in response. “I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think?”

Yggdra looked at him for a long moment. It wasn’t as though she didn’t still miss her parents. It was just that—the same part of her that had wanted so much to save him was now telling her that she wanted to be on his side.

She reached out and took his hand firmly.

“I think that we’ll definitely be able to accomplish more working together than we could when we were trying to defeat each other,” she said. Then she grinned. “I also think that if you don’t get back to bed and rest, I’m going to tell Emilia on you.”

He dropped her hand and made a face. “How about fuck off,” he said. Yggdra giggled.

 

 

Something was off about today.

It had been a week since then, and Yggdra had come to visit for an hour or so every single day. They talked about politics sometimes, and otherwise she told him about what was going on with his surviving friends and soldiers. Gulcasa was left to his own devices otherwise now that he was off suicide watch, and boredom had a way of turning to loneliness when you only had the walls and Brongaa’s fire in the back of your head to keep you company. He’d caught himself looking forward to the little queen’s visits, and had the sneaking feeling that was why.

Besides, they did have a few things in common. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to find out the ways how.

Still, something was off about today.

He realized what it was when she simply stood beside his bed instead of sitting in the chair there. She was back in her formal clothes, and she had what he thought of as her ruler face on—and her oversized sword was in her hand.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Yggdra shook her head, and there was a kind of pensive misery in her eyes.

“Something’s happened,” she told him plainly. “This will sound ridiculous, I know—but something, some kind of island, has appeared a few miles off the coast. I—all of us—when we look at it, we can feel a kind of… hostility emanating from it. There’s something not right about it, and I feel—something is pulling me there. The Royal Army is mobilizing now—we have to investigate it. We’re leaving right away. I just felt—I should tell you; I can’t leave you here with no explanation.”

Gulcasa nodded, taking it in. “How will you all fit, sailing there? Your army’s pretty big.”

Yggdra shook her head. “Along with the island… there’s a path that’s come up beneath the water, shallow enough to wade. It looks as though whoever has caused this wants it to be investigated. We’re going to take that way—we have no choice; requisitioning a ship would take too long.”

“And it’ll be dangerous, of course?”

Now Yggdra smiled. “I’m sure it will, but… we’re used to danger now. I’d… like to tell you—no. It would be wrong to say it like that. We’ll meet again soon, Gulcasa. Take care until then.”

And with no further ado, she left.

Gulcasa lay very still for some time, thinking. He still hurt all over the place, and his injuries—both from the battle, and the ones he’d inflicted on himself—weren’t completely healed quite yet. Emilia, Luciana, Aegina, and Zilva were all still recovering too, and he wanted to stay around them as much as he could. Being away from them still made him a little anxious, if he was going to be honest with himself. Only four people were left, of all those he loved. He didn’t want to stray too far from them, in case.

And if he _did_ do what he was considering, he’d catch hell from every one of them.

But even so. Yggdra had spared them—was going to all this trouble to help them recover. And he thought that he was getting somewhere, talking to her. There was enough overlap in the things that both of them wanted that some kind of treaty—alliance, even—was probably not out of the question.

And off she was going into battle again. Into danger, again.

Besides—

An island, appeared off his coastline. An island with an undersea pathway that led straight to it. He didn’t know the cause, but when he thought on it there was a great impatient flutter in his chest, like his bones and muscles were singing to him in a language he’d long since forgot. The fire and the pressure in the back of his head were stirring. And the racing feeling in his heart felt familiar, even though he couldn’t place when he might have felt it before.

Whatever the clamor inside him was, it drove him to investigate just as strongly as his pride and honor urged him to chase after Yggdra, in hopes of finding a way to repay her for what she was doing to help and support him and his people.

It was probably stupid. It was probably reckless. Well, fine. He’d been those things all his life, and it wasn’t bad to be either of them.

“I’m not going to break that promise,” he said aloud, as if to his family. “But I am going to make sure that the girl and her soldiers come back alive with me.”

His body creaked when he rose from the bed, but he didn’t pay it any mind. He’d get used to moving again on the way. Catching up to Yggdra would take time anyway.


	14. Clockwork World

Yggdra stood very still as the battle raged around her, as orders were shouted and metal clashed again and again. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, as blood flew and splattered, as magic burst in the air around her. The Gran Centurio was vibrating madly in her hands, and it was almost all she could do to keep hold of it; she couldn’t use it like this.

But more, how could she wield the sword, how could she do battle, when this was all she could hear? It filled her ears and hurt her chest, burning her eyes with tears that wanted to start.

When this had happened before, she’d heard Queen Emelone’s voice, then Gulcasa’s voice in her mind. There wasn’t a voice this time—just the distant sound of a child crying. It had started out low, but now it was nearly a scream. She still couldn’t believe that she was the only one who heard it.

Yggdra watched her troops do battle against the dead and against those strangely powerful summoned monsters. She watched Kylier yelling at them to stop, restrained by Flone from actually wading into the midst of the combatants. And she watched as Gulcasa and the fallen angel Nessiah wove their deadly dance across the steps of Nessiah’s temple.

It _was_ a dance—a stalemate. Nessiah always seemed to melt through the air just past wherever Gulcasa’s scythe sliced towards him, and the killing lightning he threw always seemed to hit just short of where Gulcasa was.

“Just leave this place,” Nessiah shouted at Gulcasa over the sizzle and snap of electricity building behind him. “You shouldn’t be involved in this!”

“Like _hell_ I’m going anywhere until you give me some damn explanation for what’s going on here,” Gulcasa snapped back, his eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to be dead! Or what was all that at Machina, huh?! Why did you leave us when we needed you?!”

“Stand down! This isn’t your battle—go back to your people, to your castle! I won’t have my justice obstructed by someone who shouldn’t be involved with any of this! I’ve waited far too long for this moment to have you get in my way!”

“Not involved?! You’ve been with me for three years! You should know better than anyone that whatever made you decide to pull this shit is automatically my business too!”

They continued to argue in that vein as they traded blows that never connected. Yggdra looked on, tightly gripping her sword and wondering why this seemed so much like a lucid dream.

Nessiah, who’d raged so violently against the heavens and mercilessly controlled the souls of her dead Royal soldiers, plainly did not want to hurt Gulcasa. And Gulcasa… Yggdra didn’t think she’d ever seen him this emotional, whether in battle or during the times they’d spoken. She couldn’t help but remember how deeply he’d grieved when his soldiers had told him Nessiah had died, though it seemed so long ago to her. She could only imagine how betrayed Gulcasa must feel.

This was too much for her to absorb all at once. There was so much she still had to think about—that Nessiah had made the Holy Sword, all the implications of that fact, how many times she and Gulcasa had been manipulated by this man over the course of the war, why Nessiah was so bent on attacking the gods—that all she could do was set it aside, and think of the immediate situation.

Her soldiers were fighting for their lives, Gulcasa was fighting his own heart, Kylier was against there being any battle… and she was immobilized by the sound of Nessiah in pain.

In pain: Anguished and torn, believing only in what he was doing but incapable of striking Gulcasa down to get there. In pain, and despite his long years and his hatred for the world, that pain felt unbearably vivid and human to Yggdra.

His hatred for the world: A hatred that had led to this horrible, tragic cycle that had finally revolved to bring Yggdra and her army, her friends, back here where it had all begun. This cycle that Yggdra had sworn to Kylier she was going to break, even joining hands with Gulcasa to do so.

This cycle of hatred and pain and death and misunderstanding.

Misunderstanding.

Yggdra’s heart clenched, and she squared her shoulders. She had to put a stop to this, _now,_ before it ended badly.

But even as she made her way carefully through the combatants towards the Great Temple, Milanor finished off the enemy he was fighting and made for Gulcasa and Nessiah’s tight dance in a headlong sprint. His eyes were narrowed with furious hate.

Gulcasa and Nessiah only had eyes for each other. If either saw him, they paid him no mind.

Milanor ducked into the dance, swerving into the ebb and flow in the way that only a practiced thief could. His weapon darted out in a flash of silver and Yggdra felt sick as blood followed its arc, as Nessiah staggered gracelessly into a temple pillar with a crack. Gulcasa’s shoes scraped against the marble floor as he ground to a halt and Milanor ducked back and away; Nessiah sank to the temple floor with blood flowering all along where his robes had been cut open.

The sound—the discordant clanging of his chains on stone—froze everyone in their steps.

The golems and skeletons so many members of the Royal Army had been fighting fell apart, and the controlled souls’ eyes went blank as they vanished into the air.

Nessiah did not attempt to stand. His breath rattled with pain, and one of his pale little hands clutched against his wound fruitlessly. Milanor walked past Gulcasa towards where Nessiah lay, his heavy footfalls the only other sound.

“This,” Milanor snarled, all bared teeth as he lifted his blade, “is for what you did to Kylier…!”

Yggdra forced herself past paralysis and began to walk forward, then run. Her throat was too dry for speech, and she didn’t think she’d make it in time, but she had to try—

_“Stop!”_

And Kylier was there, blocking Milanor’s path with her arms outstretched and a terrified kind of defiance on her face.

Milanor stopped.

“What—Kylier, the hell are you doing? Get outta the way!”

“No way! What do you think you’re going to do with that? I won’t let you hurt him anymore! Just _look_ at him! You’ve done enough!”

Milanor’s expression was both confused and angry. “But—I can’t just let him off, after what he did to you…! He fucked around with your head to try to make you kill us! Why would you shield a piece of shit like that?! Has he still got his claws in your goddamn brain?!”

“No—that’s _why_ I’m standing here, you _complete_ fuckass!” Kylier shrieked. She still looked shaken from her previous ordeal, but there were angry spots of color in her cheeks and angrier tears in her eyes. “The things I _saw—_ are you just gonna repeat all that? Are you gonna stand there, and pretend that what he did to me justifies this, when _so much bad_ has happened to him already? Milanor, what the _hell_ is going through your thick head?! That would make you worse, don’t you get it?! That would make you worse than him or anyone else you’ve ever thought was bad! I won’t let you hurt him!”

Milanor just stared at her and didn’t say anything.

The hellish quiet was interrupted by an ear-rendingly discordant jangle. Everyone turned to see that Nessiah was struggling to regain his feet, shaking badly and gritting his teeth against the pain. He slumped back to his knees once, then again, but refused to give up and lie still, pushing himself up and finally gripping the ridged pillar behind him to get to his feet.

Even then, his body shook so that he seemed as though he might fall over at any moment. Blood continued to soak his torn robes, splattering on the stone tiles of the temple steps.

“I—refuse.” He shook his head, and his chains clanked dully. “I’ve come—too far for this. I’ve—shouldered far too much human pain to fail here. I refuse. I _refuse_ to die at a time like this.”

But Nessiah was much too weak to stay standing with the amount of blood he was losing. Finally his legs buckled and gave out, sending him pitching towards the stairs.

Gulcasa was there in one flying leap and an ugly sound of armor scraping on stone, arms outstretched. He sank to his knees at a gentler pace than Nessiah’s momentum would have sent him. Yggdra thought that the way Gulcasa cradled Nessiah in both arms, supportive and soft, spoke for long experience of caring for people just like this.

Even so, Nessiah was not content to lie still. He hooked his fingers around the edges of Gulcasa’s armor and strained to regain his feet. “I will not—”

“Stay still,” Gulcasa said. His voice was so low a growl that Yggdra could hardly discern his worry from his enmity. “Flailing around like an idiot’s only going to make the blood loss worse. If you don’t want to die, you have to stay _still,_ understand? For once in your miserable existence, appreciate your body’s limits!”

Nessiah arched back in Gulcasa’s arms, soft mouth set into a scowl. “You must forgive me for my cheek, but—you of all people have the least right of all to caution me.”

“But he’s right,” Yggdra said. Milanor, Kylier, and Gulcasa all looked up—apparently none of them had noticed that she’d approached them. “Please—don’t hurt yourself any further. You may be an angel, and you may have hundreds of years of hatred built up, but I’m afraid you’ll never be able to defeat us, no matter how strongly you feel.”

“What are you…?” Nessiah managed to get out between ragged breaths.

“It’s… because we love this world,” Yggdra said simply. “It’s not a perfect world, we know. It’s a very damaged world… and sometimes it’s a very cruel and uncaring one. But it’s our world, and we intend to change it for the better. We have a responsibility to do so. Each one of us represents a part of this world that desires change, and… together, we _are_ this world. It may not be a kind place, but it’s our duty to see that it becomes one. No matter how hot your fury burns—no matter how justified your actions might or might not be—as long as your actions endanger this world, our responsibility and our love will keep you from doing it.”

Nessiah seemed to stare at her for a long time before his expression twisted into a bitter smile and he began to laugh.

“Is that so? Well, idealism sounds very nice when you put it like that, but ideals are ideals because they cannot be reconciled with reality. Your species is so warlike that I hardly had to involve myself with inciting conflicts to ensure the growth of my sword. All sentient creatures are the same in that regard. Angels and demons are no exception. They look for someone to persecute in order to ensure their own happiness. They take advantage of others, and force the unfortunate to see to all the dirty tasks no one wants. They push all their negativity onto scapegoats. I have watched your society for over a thousand years, o new sovereign, and let me assure you that in that regard it is the twin of mine.

“Even when idealists rise up—” Nessiah moved as if to turn significantly towards Gulcasa, but stopped when pain creased his face. “Even when innocent dreamers are born, they never last. The society around them always uses them as convenient pawns, or beats them down into the mud for not complying with its accepted rules. Idealists become just as bad—” and here he smiled, as if to mock himself— “or they are killed, or their idealism comes from ignorance and they do far more harm than good.”

“So there’s no point in holding out hope for change? I think that logic is self-defeating,” Yggdra said. “And even if what you say is true, we must still try. All we can do is our best. It is the only option that is anything like palatable.”

Nessiah began to laugh again, but his face quickly twisted into a snarl and he raised his hand to his mouth to cover a cough. Blood ran through his fingers. Gulcasa, still holding him, narrowed his eyes and bit his lip.

“I don’t intend to use this sword ever again, but…” Yggdra glanced down at the Gran Centurio, then returned her gaze to Nessiah. “I’m sorry. I can’t give it back to you. This world would only be dragged into your war, and it can’t stand any more battle. We need time to heal, time to rebuild, time to establish real peace. If there’s really any power in my blood, and in my friendships… then I’ll use it to make the world better. It’s true that all of us have made mistakes along the way, but we’re still here.

“Whatever happened in the past, you don’t have to suffer from it forever.” Yggdra climbed the steps slowly, and knelt down alongside Gulcasa so that she could speak to Nessiah from his own level. “Why don’t you just come with us instead? Trying to help us make peace now will do more good than pursuing a thousand-year-old grudge. I’m sure that with all you’ve seen and all you’re capable of doing, you could make a difference if you try.”

“It’s too late for that,” Nessiah said.

“It’s never too late—”

“When someone with as much experience with death as I tells you that it is too late, you need to believe him,” Nessiah said, cutting her off. “I have lost the ability to feel most of my body. I am also very tired. If I cannot have my revenge in this era, then at least I would—very much like to sleep for a while.”

It was like being slapped. Yggdra winced, and tried to blink away the stinging in her eyes. “But—”

Nessiah ignored her, stretching a hand up to touch Gulcasa’s cheek instead. Now that the bitterness was gone from his expression, his whole face looked gentler. “If there is anything I have to be grateful to her for, it is you. I am—infinitely relieved that you are still alive.” He laughed again. The sound bubbled and rasped in his throat. “I see you’ve grown again. It surprised me, seeing that your armor finally fits the way it should.”

Gulcasa bowed his head. “Nessiah…”

“I’m sorry…” Nessiah rested his forehead against Gulcasa’s cheek. “I didn’t—want you to be involved… I couldn’t fight you. I never wanted you to matter to me this much, but—but I want you to know…” He breathed in, seemed to gather up his strength, and then smiled. It was a horrible expression to look at, twisted with pain and effort to keep from crying. “The three years I spent with you were the happiest of my existence. I know I have no right to—to ask you to believe me, after hiding the truth from you for so long. But all the same, I am grateful to you for showing me kindness.”

“Nessiah—” Gulcasa shook his head. “Nessiah, you _idiot…_ why didn’t you ever tell us anything? You could have talked to us—we would have fought for you, if only we’d known! I just wish that you’d been able to tell us…!”

Yggdra looked on with awe. Gulcasa had not been ashamed to cry in front of her before, but back then his tears had been silent, even dignified. There was none of that here and now. His voice shook and cracked, and he held on to Nessiah like a shipwreck survivor clinging to flotsam to stay afloat.

Nessiah ran his hand over Gulcasa’s face again, then turned with an effort. “You… Undine girl—I have something I ought to tell you, before I lose the chance.”

“Huh? You mean Nietzsche?” the girl yelped, pointing to herself in surprise.

“There’s a freshwater spring nearby,” Nessiah said. “There’s—something that belongs to you there. Take it. I’d meant to get it back to where it belongs eventually, but… it seems as though I would not be able to do that for some time.”

Nietzsche looked confused, but she still nodded.

There was a brief silence that was only broken by the ragged edge of Nessiah’s breathing.

“Gulcasa.” His voice was much softer, much weaker now.

“Yes?”

“If it’s alright with you—I would like to impose on you one last time.”

“Of course it’s alright. I’ll do anything.”

“Give me—a clean end… and when it’s over, take this body back inside the temple. You will know the proper place.”

Gulcasa paled visibly. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to _impose_ on me like that.”

“Gulcasa, please.”

He closed his eyes. Pain made his face look weathered to Yggdra. “I do not ever want to turn my hand against someone I love.”

“Gulcasa, please.” Nessiah was quiet for a while. “I would do it myself if I had the strength, but I no longer have it in me to lift a weapon. This will otherwise take some time, and would generally be unpleasant and boring, so I would prefer to get it over with. And the only person whom I will allow to end my life is you.”

Gulcasa leaned down and rested his forehead to Nessiah’s, closing his eyes. “This is really what you want?”

“Please,” Nessiah said again.

Gulcasa heaved out a great breath as though steeling himself. When he straightened up, his eyes were rimmed with red, but he gazed into Nessiah’s face unfalteringly. “Alright.”

He had set his scythe down in order to hold Nessiah in both arms. Now he reached without looking to grip the haft and lifted the weapon so that the killing curve rested along the fragile arc of Nessiah’s ribs. Gulcasa left it there, a last resistance, until Nessiah rested a pallid hand over the back of Gulcasa’s heavy gauntlet.

When the blade sank in, Nessiah made a sound like “oh” and then his entire body relaxed. Yggdra forced down her half-formed protests, swallowing them back even as Gulcasa lifted his weapon away and blood stained Nessiah’s robes dark red.

“Thank you,” said Nessiah.

“Shut up,” said Gulcasa.

Yggdra had known better than to intrude in the two’s private exchange even when she’d thought she couldn’t possibly keep silent, but when Nessiah turned to reach out to her, she reached out and held his hand in both of her own readily.

She didn’t fully understand what was happening here—without knowing why Nessiah had done all of this, maybe she never would. All she understood was that despite what he’d done to them, this was Gulcasa’s friend dying and it was ripping Gulcasa apart to lose him again. And that even if only because Nessiah was dear to Gulcasa, she would have saved him if she could.

“You said—that your wish for peace… was what conquered my hatred,” Nessiah said, and shuddered. “Then, you do your best to change this world so that it is peaceful when I wake…” His voice was getting fainter, so that Yggdra had to lean in to hear him clearly. “I wonder what kind of future will reflect on these—blind eyes…”

After that, he was silent. A few moments later, his cheek dropped to Gulcasa’s breastplate, and his fingers slackened in Yggdra’s hands. When she let go, his arm sank to the tile in a clatter of chains, and Yggdra felt a chill. It was over.

Gulcasa held still for a few moments longer. Then he gathered Nessiah’s body close to his chest and stood, turning towards the interior of the temple.

Yggdra stood up, too, grabbing a fistful of his cloak when he took his first step. He looked over his shoulder at her, and she shook her head. “I’ll go with you,” she told him. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone…”

“No,” Gulcasa said, and turned away. “This is for me to do. I want to do it by myself.”

Yggdra considered him for a while. His expression was unreadable, and Nessiah’s body seemed dwarfed in his arms. At last she nodded, and glanced back at her silent forces. “All right. Then, everyone… we’ll wait outside. We’ll decide what to do next once this is… when Gulcasa comes back.”


	15. The Queen of Diamonds

“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Cruz asked.

“Good question. Next question,” Roswell retorted dryly.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we _can_ do…” Yggdra said with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

“Indeed. Our first order of business would be finding a way to send this island back towards the earth, but… obviously this is out of our power,” Durant agreed. “The worst may be over, but we’ve been left with quite the mess to sort out.”

Yggdra didn’t say anything. All she could think of was the murderous aura Gulcasa had given off when he emerged from the temple. The way that he had called what he had seen there impossible to justify no matter what.

Roswell glanced around and shook his head. “Everything about this is impossible,” he said. “We’ve risen a great height in so short a time… we shouldn’t even be able to breathe right now. I cannot explain this by magic or by logic.”

Yggdra sighed. “Nessiah said that we would be entering a place called Heaven’s Gate soon; I suppose we would have to find some way to contact someone with the power to return us to our world there. It’s all I can think of doing. I don’t know how long it will take, but… maybe it will be better to rest. We’ve been through so much in so short a time… everyone must be exhausted.”

“Yeah—I guess that makes sense,” Cruz said. “Okay. It’s not like we have anything better to do, anyway.”

Durant nodded. “Yes. Princess… perhaps it would be a good idea to speak to some of the others, while we wait. Many of them seem to have been… upset by these events.”

“Alright—I’ll do that,” Yggdra agreed. And sighed again. She just wanted to lie down and sleep for a few weeks, but if her friends needed her…

It seemed as though her work was never going to be completely done.

 

 

“It’s a little disturbing to think about, but… if everything Nessiah told us was true, then that means he likely has been manipulating Fantasinia and its allies into wars for quite some time,” Mistel said, sitting on a shelf of coral and drawing her knees up, lacing her fingers together in front of them. “His goal was to cause the Holy Sword—the Gran Centurio—to attain enough power that it could break his chains, and we know that one way the sword gains power is through battle.”

Yggdra nodded and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Given our history I doubt that Nessiah really had to do that much manipulating, but… we know that he was involved with the Imperial Army this time around, and that he intervened on the behalf of our army at times when I could have died.”

“Historically, there are varied accounts of a tactician or mage with great skill being accepted as the commander or strategist of the Royal Army during Fantasinia’s direst wars,” Mistel pointed out. “There were always centuries spanning between those accounts, so no one would ever have thought to connect them before, but knowing what we know now… That was probably Nessiah. I have an ancestor who would have served under him, and my grandfather taught me strategy by improving on his methods. It’s so strange, the way this has all circled around.”

“Why was he with Bronquia this time around, then?” Cruz wanted to know. “Stands to reason he should’ve been on our side if he wanted to manipulate us, ‘specially since the Holy Sword was almost ready…”

Russell shook his head. “Nessiah was the one who came up with the plan to force me to enlist by using Flone. He certainly didn’t have a problem with pulling strings from the Empire’s side. But I do wonder why he didn’t switch sides after the fall of Paltina.”

Elena, who had been watching them postulate with a pensive expression, took a breath and began to speak. “I cannot speak for Nessiah’s feelings. All I can offer are the facts that I am aware of. Nessiah was—he was already a member of His Majesty’s army when my brother and I joined. Looking back, logic would suggest that he may have already been grooming our forces for a potential war with the kingdom. But at the same time, Nessiah was closer to His Majesty than anyone. His Majesty loved and cared for each one of us, of course, much like Your Highness does for the Royal Army now. But His Majesty showered Nessiah in kindnesses the same as he did for the rest of us, and Nessiah responded to being treated gently. The revolution would not have been possible without Nessiah’s expertise as a tactician, but neither would it have been possible without him there to support and care for His Majesty when His Majesty needed it most.”

“I spent a lot of time with the Imperial higher-ups, and I watched the way Gulcasa and Nessiah acted around each other—those two were practically joined at the hip,” Russell said. “Either Nessiah is better at faking attachment than any living thing I’ve ever known, or like Elena says, this is a case of the biter getting bitten. I do think that that theory does bring sense to why Nessiah killed himself at Machina instead of joining Milanor, knowing you would die if someone didn’t stop Gulcasa’s whole harebrained-last-resort plan.”

Yggdra nodded. “That makes sense. After all… I saw for myself how badly Gulcasa took the news that Nessiah had died…” She glanced over her shoulder at where Gulcasa was standing with his dragon close to the edge of the island, watching the clouds pass.

“That’s probably a bad idea, Princess,” Russell told her. “He’ll bite anyone who comes too near before he’s ready. You should know that, after all the time you spent taking care of him.”

“Y-yes, I know…” Yggdra looked back guiltily. Gulcasa might not act as offended as her Fantasinian male friends when she saw him hurt or confused, but part of what was making him so distressed now was anger at everything that had made Nessiah end up like this—basically, anger with no outlet. If she messed up and wound up provoking his temper, it would only take him so much longer to calm down.

“Well, _I_ don’t see what it matters,” Rosary said, disgruntled. There was an edge of cold rage and disgust to her words that made everyone turn to her with eyebrows upraised. She sounded even more severe and petulant than she did when she was sniping at Roswell. “What the hell is it supposed to matter what kind of person that Nessiah was, or why he did what he did? He manipulated us. He _used_ us. What we wanted or what kinds of people _we_ are never mattered a damn in hell to him. In the end we were just wind-up dolls dancing in the palm of his hand, and standing around talking about why isn’t going to change that.” She stood sharply and stalked away, her footfalls audible even after she’d vanished from view.

“Rosary…” Yggdra stared after her, surprised, and made as if to follow her.

Roswell set a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. When she looked at him, he shook his head. “She’s upset,” he told her. “Yggdra, you shouldn’t go after her. She hasn’t accepted it yet… I can’t say I have either, but Rosary isn’t… that skilled at dealing with these things. We both remembered this time, you see… Nessiah was the one who gave us the Ankhs. He was the one who set us against each other… though I can’t say it wouldn’t have gone that way eventually, anyway.”

Yggdra just shook her head and half-sat, half-leaned against one of the hedges of blue crystal. There had been far too many revelations today; how was she to absorb this, as well?

“Nietzsche thinks… he was probably the one that tricked everyone in Embellia, too,” Nietzsche said suddenly. She’d been uncharacteristically silent up until now, looking at something she’d held and staying on the edge of the conversation. “They said… some kind of magician told them to use human blood, didn’t they? And Nietzsche checked the pond, like Nessiah said…” She opened her hands to show the others that she held a heavy blue jewel. “This is the Transmigragem. Nietzsche’s been looking for it for so long, and now… Nietzsche’s sure this means Nessiah was behind everything in Embellia. But Nessiah said he was going to make sure it got back to us Undines. And he told Nietzsche where it was. So Nietzsche doesn’t understand.”

Yggdra shook her head. As an old memory surfaced in the back of her mind, she covered her face with both hands, stifling a helpless giggle.

“Uh, Yggdra…?”

“I’m sorry—it’s just, I remembered something. When I was a girl, I was taught that the Gran Centurio had been given to my ancestor, the empress Paltina, by an angel come down from heaven. Paltineas, her son, was the one who used it as a divine mandate, and established the kingdom of Fantasinia with it. The legends go on to say that Paltina received the Holy Sword in order to defend Lombardia—and the religion of Meria—from destruction. So what if… what if part of that legend was true… it was only that the details got confused?”

“I think I see what you’re getting at,” Russell mused, his brow furrowing and his cheeks paling. “It’s possible that aspects of the story were intentionally changed, too. After all, it’s a much more impressive tale if the sword that’s your country’s symbol was a gift from God—and it puts a lot more fear and respect in your people—than if it was given to you by a fallen angel…”

“Then the implication of all these events is that Yggdra’s ancestors knew exactly what Nessiah was when they accepted the Gran Centurio from him,” Mistel said, and she shook her head. “Either this makes the most important figures in this world’s history more monstrous than we could possibly comprehend… or their situation was so desperate that they truly didn’t care where the helping hand came from as long as it allowed them to win.”

“I knew it…” Yggdra covered her face with both hands. “It’s all lies, then. Everything… everything we grew up taking for granted as true… it was all a series of horrible, selfish lies. I’ve been suspecting for a while… that the Holy Sword—that the Gran Centurio wasn’t a miter of justice, something that bound its user to be good. I myself have done far too much that’s wrong and unjust with it for that to be the case. But this… I feel so sick…”

A supportive arm came around her shoulders, and Yggdra leaned into it, not caring whose it was. A voice—Roswell’s—murmured close to her, “Then why pursue this? If he’s done so much to wrong you, why are you so intent on achieving some kind of understanding of Nessiah’s character? Can any good really come of it?”

“I have to,” Yggdra replied in a sad and tired whisper. “I have to try to understand Nessiah because—because if I don’t, if I just take what I know and have done with it, then I’ll have no choice but to hate him. And I don’t want to hate him. I want to know if there’s some kind of reason he did what he did, something I can understand, so that I can accept him or at least pity him instead… I’ve had more than enough of hate for a hundred lifetimes. I never want to hate anyone again.”

 

 

It was at least another hour before the island of Ancardia reached its destination.

Yggdra spent her time waiting on her back, looking up at the scattered stars above. So far away from the lights of the world below, they were clear and bright and bountiful, a forest of pale glittering points. It seemed like it had been ages since she’d looked up at a similar night sky with Milanor as spring became summer, but it had not even been half a year. How had so much happened in so short a time?

Roswell had lain at her side for a while, and she’d taken comfort in his warmth, in his familiar presence. Eventually, he’d apologized to her and said he had to check on Rosary; Yggdra let him go. Gulcasa had approached a few minutes later. His dragon had curled up on the rocks nearby, and he’d sat against her side, presumably watching the stars as Yggdra was. He hadn’t said a word, so she wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to her or not. She didn’t know if _she_ even wanted to talk.

The others were scattered across the rest of the island—Russell and Flone with Cruz, Nietzsche and Pamela and Durant and Mistel speaking of trivialities, Milanor and Kylier arguing. Yggdra didn’t have the energy to try to reassure them. Too much still weighed on her mind; she could barely manage coherent thought at all.

It took her a moment to realize what the rumbling was, and the strange sensation that followed—almost like how you still felt the motion of the tides once you’d left the water. But she recognized quickly enough that Ancardia was no longer moving upwards, and that this meant that whatever destination it had been heading for, they were there.

Yggdra sat up, and after a moment’s hesitation reached for the hilt of the Gran Centurio. As much as she hated it, she might have no other choice but to make use of the sword here. She would be able to lay it aside soon, though. She had to believe that.

Biting her lip, she turned. “Gulcasa—”

But she halted when she actually set eyes on him.

He’d fallen asleep sometime over the past hour, despite the fact that he was still in full battle armor with one hand over the haft of his scythe. His expression was even, but the shadows just under his eyes were tinged with red and looked a little swollen. It was clear that he was taking all of this desperately hard.

Yggdra was guilty for it, but she knew that she had no choice but to wake him. She would need his strength if some kind of situation arose. So she laid a hand over the base of his pauldron and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Gulcasa. You have to wake up now; we’re here.”

He didn’t protest, didn’t try to swat her away; he only opened his eyes and gave her a world-weary stare before sitting up and giving a light tug on his dragon’s tack so that she got up with him.

Slowly, Yggdra gathered her army to her.

“Everyone… we need to explore this place together, and try to find someone who can help us return to our world. We must stay together, and stay on our guard at all times. There may be danger here; we can’t know for certain that our word will be trusted. But we have to get home, or else our countries will be in a state of chaos. Our people need us too much for us to just vanish here.”

And so, their expedition began.

Yggdra hadn’t been sure what she’d expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. This place was made up of rocky, barren islands clumped together in a kind of belt or pathway through the sky; occasionally large gaps separated them, bridged by series of smaller pieces of land supported by meshes of giant chains. In the coldness of the night, it seemed unearthly and surreal; once the Royal Army and Gulcasa had left Ancardia, the island seemed out of place. It still glowed with blue light, and its coral and crystal—along with Nessiah’s temple—gave it a great deal more adornment than any of the nearby terrain.

“This is… supposed to be ‘heaven’…?” Yggdra murmured to herself, looking around in confusion and worry.

When she tried to venture forward, Roswell dashed to her side and gripped her shoulder, holding her back.

“Yggdra, don’t go any further—I sense some kind of power building up ahead. It’s magic, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“I can feel it too,” Rosary said from behind them. “Whatever it is, it’s not human…”

Yggdra squinted and leaned forward, trying to see. “I think I saw something… is that a person over there?”

“They’re comin’ closer,” Milanor observed. “Stay on your toes, everybody…”

There was a sudden echo from the Gran Centurio, and it began to pulse in Yggdra’s hands. She looked down at it in alarm, then turned back towards the approaching figure and gasped.

“Wings…?!”

It seemed to be a young woman—Yggdra would’ve guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, but there was no way of gauging for sure. She was tall, probably around Durant’s height, and impossibly beautiful, with straight gold hair that flowed more than fell down to her waist. Her eyes were a strange bronze color, and a pair of immense wings of the same shade rose from her shoulder blades. She was wearing a circlet sporting white porcelain wings on each side, and something slim and white supporting her breasts. A skirt—or were those wings, too?—folded around her waist, and she had on deep burgundy boots. She carried a heavy and authoritative-looking stave in one hand, and there were wide bracelets glimmering on both her wrists. Her expression was cold and suspicious.

She didn’t speak, but continued to draw closer.

“Are you… an angel?” Yggdra asked numbly, breathless.

The angel—for surely she had to be one—stared at her impassively, and then those amber eyes flicked down to the Gran Centurio and narrowed as her brow came down sharply.

“That sword…”

Yggdra retreated a step involuntarily. The angel’s voice was icy, and the Gran Centurio was beginning to vibrate fiercely again.

“You humans… the Fallen One led you here, didn’t he?!”

“Ah—please, let me try to explain—”

“For the past several hundred years, that sword has been strengthened by every war on your world,” the angel said coldly. “This was done for one purpose, and one purpose only—to destroy all that Asgard has accomplished, and strike down the gods! It is a threat to our peace, and you must either remove that threat or perish, human!”

“No—you have it all wrong!” Yggdra cried, desperate. “We came to this place to _stop—”_

“Silence, mortal! If you do not leave this place immediately, your life is forfeit!” The angel’s voice rose to a shout, and she pointed her staff directly at Yggdra.

Before Yggdra could even blink, her army closed its ranks around her.

“The rest of you pose no risk of harming our sacred peace. Return to your world, and I will guarantee your safety,” the angel said coldly. “There is no need for you to share the fate of this girl.”

“Not a chance,” Milanor shouted. “We’re not gonna let you hurt Yggdra! She’s our friend!”

“And she is the hope of our world,” said Durant.

“The Princess took Nietzsche and everybody in,” Nietzsche added.

“She cares for me, and I owe her my life—that’s more than enough,” Roswell said softly.

“Yggdra’s the only leader in this world or any other worth following,” Rosary declared.

“She holds the power of change, and the will to see it through,” Mistel put in with a smile.

“It’s because of her that my fiancée and I—and my people—have our freedom,” Russell said, squeezing Flone’s hand.

“She’s kept our ideals alive,” Cruz said simply.

“I don’t get what’s going on, but even if you’re from Asgard, nobody said you could interrupt when we’re having fun,” Pamela said, and booed.

“She… accepts people,” Elena offered. “Even a traitor like me.”

“Maybe it’s taken us a while to get there, but… I believe in her,” Kylier said defiantly. “She understands what her country has done and what she’s responsible for, and she wants to fix it. We won’t let you or _anybody_ get in her way!”

“I am in a very bad mood.” When Gulcasa spoke, it was barely a whisper, but the growl in his voice carried the words with all the thunder of a cataract. “If the people of the heavens intend to persecute anyone else, I will take you up on that offer of a fight, with interest. This girl is necessary to our world. You will not harm her.”

Shocked but touched, Yggdra blinked back tears. “Everyone…”

“Just stick with us, Yggdra,” Milanor said, glaring at the angel. “We’re not gonna let her lay a finger on you!”

“Hmph… you are bold, for mortals,” the angel remarked derisively. “So be it. If you seek to defy Asgard, then as the guardian of Heaven’s Gate I, Marietta, will pass judgment on you. Your hubris will be burnt from this earth! _Defense systems on!”_

What had to be over a hundred magical glyphs flared into life behind the angel Marietta, and over each one appeared a living creature. Some seemed human, others half-human, but most were fantastical beasts—giant dogs and wolves, immense insects, lizardlike dragons, little bat creatures that looked like demons, mounds of slime, skeletons, and giant golems.

There was a rumbling growl from them as Marietta raised her staff and began to chant in words that hurt Yggdra’s ears.

“A High Magic curse…!” Roswell breathed from her side, and rushed out in front of her, raising both hands before him, beginning to incant a familiar barrier spell.

Marietta looked down her nose at them as if scorning the display of uncultured human magic, and gestured in the air. A bolt of gold lightning leapt from her fingers, sweeping through Roswell’s half-formed shield to strike him full in the chest.

He didn’t even make a single sound—he just wavered where he stood and fell.

Yggdra screamed something—she wasn’t sure what—and caught him in both arms before he hit the ground, sinking to her knees beneath his weight.

Roswell didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes were strangely blank and he was shaking all over. Yggdra shook him, shouting his name, but he still didn’t answer. A dark ribbon of blood began to spill from the corner of his eye.

Flone was there before Yggdra even had the chance to beg her for help, her hands glowing white before she even set them to Roswell’s chest.

“You… you _piece of shit!_ What the hell did you _do_ to him?!” Yggdra heard the shout distantly, and it took her a moment to realize that it had been Rosary’s voice.

Flone shook her head, her eyes wide with horror. “What—what is this…?! Roswell is… all his vital organs are failing, his body is shutting down… and whatever this is, it’s spreading too fast for me to fight…!”

“Please… _please,_ you can’t just give up!” Yggdra cried, not sure whether she meant to address Flone or Roswell or both of them at once. “You have to keep trying! Please!”

“Your spirit is admirable enough, but you’re all weak,” Marietta said. “Resign yourselves to your fate, and die. _Revellion.”_

There was a deafening crash, as though the entire sky had become a thunderhead ready to break open, and a brilliant flash of light. Yggdra hunched down over Roswell protectively, but knew it would be no use. It was all going to end here, and there was nothing she could do—

The air in front of her blurred and rippled, and the faintest shadow took shape against the light.

_“Limes Aeriales.”_

The destructive light crashed into something with such force that it whipped Yggdra’s hair back. Though she squinted desperately, the blow never fell. And as it dispersed, she looked up in confusion—and stared in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Jumping to conclusions and acting on them thoughtlessly, as usual… I see the state of Asgard hasn’t changed one bit since I left.”

 _Nessiah_ of all people was standing in front of her, his left hand outstretched and his right held over the pages of his open spellbook.

 _“You…!”_ Marietta breathed in fury as Yggdra whispered, _“How…?”_

“Two things,” Nessiah said, still facing away from her. “Firstly, it has been some decades since I died with any frequency, and I had quite forgotten that the more powerful the Gran Centurio becomes, the more quickly I can create a fully ambulatory body. And secondly—I heard you calling for help. You were practically screaming. As long as you wield that sword, you and I are connected. You called for me, and so here I am.”

Yggdra blinked back tears and glanced around. Flone had turned her attention back towards Roswell; Rosary had broken through the ranks and was kneeling on his other side. Everyone else was staring at Nessiah in utter bafflement.

“As for _you.”_ Nessiah’s tone sharpened, and dripped with distaste. “I suggest you retreat, and stop bothering the girl. She has not raised a hand to you yet, and I rather dislike rude awakenings. Have you no appreciation that a lack of sleep ruins one’s natural beauty?”

Yggdra could see Marietta grit her teeth, and the angel burst out with a vicious, _“Never!_ Crawl back into the abyss you came out of, traitor!”

Nessiah sighed theatrically. “As you like it, then. Prepare yourself.”

Yggdra hesitated, then squeezed Roswell’s shoulders before turning to Rosary. “Take him…?” she whispered; Rosary nodded silently and held her arms out. Yggdra gently passed him to her, then gathered up the Gran Centurio and rose to her feet in shaky motions, circling Flone to reach Nessiah.

“I don’t really understand what’s happening, but please—please be careful,” she managed. “This person… this Marietta, she’s unbelievably powerful… and all these creatures with her…”

“They’re known as Cefiro,” Nessiah told her. “The celestial islands that make up Heaven’s Gate and many other sacred places in Asgard are protected by them. They’re not human—they’re Sprites, much like your Undine friend. And they are controlled by the defense systems of Asgard. They’ll attack anything marked as an intruder, and you’re right that it may be troublesome to fight this person if I’ve an army to deal with as well as my actual opponent. I suppose I’ll just have to…”

His voice trailed off, and he faced away from her and from Marietta. There was a quick series of metallic-sounding snaps, and then Nessiah was shrugging out of his ragged purple outer robe, folding it over a few times and closing his spellbook. He glanced around, then headed to Kylier and held both out to her. “Would you be so kind as to hold these for me for just a moment?”

Kylier blinked and accepted them. “Uh—yeah, sure, I guess…”

“Alright, then.” And he turned and headed back towards Yggdra, but didn’t slow his pace as he neared her—he actually quickened his step so that he was almost trotting by the time he reached out lightly and pulled the Gran Centurio from her hands so easily that all she could do was blink.

“Eh—wha—”

“I will be borrowing this for a moment, if you please!” Nessiah’s call back to her was almost flippant. His hold on the sword was light and effortless as he ran.

 _“Agh!_ What the—you just let him _take_ it?!” Milanor yelped, incensed, and shook Yggdra’s shoulder furiously. “What happened to the whole ‘we’re not letting him have the sword’ thing?!”

Yggdra just shook her head, blinking down at her empty hands. Even so—even _with_ the Gran Centurio, what could Nessiah hope to accomplish against so many?

“I don’t know what it is you think you can do with that, but…” Marietta waved her hand again, pitching her voice to carry to the Cefiro surrounding her. “Destroy him.”

They slavered and roared, and started forward.

Nessiah shifted his grip to hold the Gran Centurio with both hands, but did not slow. He hit their waves with a yell of effort, and blood sprayed as he swung the heavy blade in a horizontal arc.

Yggdra looked on in utter disbelief as Nessiah danced through the Cefiro, leaving the bodies of the dying piled behind him as he somehow managed to avoid any injury at all. He looked almost laughable holding the giant sword—until you noticed that he was thrusting and slashing with it as though its massive blade weighed no more than an ordinary rapier. First he was wielding it with one hand, then the other, then both, so that even the constraints of his chains did little to hold him back from dealing incredible destruction to his enemies.

In fact—in fact, he seemed to be even more adept at wielding the Holy Sword than Yggdra was. Even now, she had to put so much of her body into simply swinging the heavy weapon, and her voluminous skirts and tight corset sometimes prevented her from being able to move fully. But Nessiah had taken off his heavy robe so that he wouldn’t be weighted down, and with his small stature and the impossible way he ignored the Gran Centurio’s awkward size, he was able to flowingly strike and dodge and spin so that he proved a difficult and deadly target.

As Yggdra watched, amazed, Nessiah lightly leaped up onto a golem’s back, bringing the Gran Centurio down on its neck and head and jumping away as it fell. But another of the stone monsters reached out and swatted at him with its heavy arm; the strike connected, and Nessiah was knocked heavily to the ground, rolling to land in an awkward sprawl.

Even as far away as she was, Yggdra could see him shaking as he used the Gran Centurio to pull himself up, and it was impossible to miss his stumble as he tried to keep his feet. The remaining Cefiro surged together and began a rumbling march towards him, victory glinting in their eyes.

Nessiah shook his head with an audible jangle of chains, then shifted the Gran Centurio to his right hand. He held his left out at his side, spreading his fingers, and there was what looked like a Tactics Card beneath them.

“Tortured angel, light stolen from thine eyes and flight from thy wings—”

The Gran Centurio began to pulsate, lightning crackling around it as its blade emitted blazing white light.

“—Rain thy curse down upon mine enemy.”

Nessiah sank to his knees, gripped the hilt of the Gran Centurio with both hands, and flung it hard into the air, where it spun in tight circles, end over end.

It seemed to hang suspended for lifetimes, when really it was only a few seconds before Nessiah took three flying steps forward and leaped into the air, turning a perfect flip as he grasped its hilt that landed him in the midst of the Cefiro. There was a sharp clash and a burst of light, and Nessiah sprinted out the other side of the mass of angry creatures, sliding to a halt on the cold stone and sinking almost to his knees.

Then there was a great cry, and blood fountained forth from Marietta’s summoned defenders. Nessiah didn’t turn to look at them as it splattered across the stone, or as slivers of light became a spray of mixed black and white feathers that drifted lazily down to cover the corpses. As the last of them fell, he straightened up, standing proud and tall.

“Justice is mine to dispense,” he said quietly, and in the grave silence his voice echoed.

He turned, and walked back towards Yggdra and her army in easy steps. Yggdra couldn’t help but flinch as he approached, but he held out the Gran Centurio and pressed its hilt into her hands.

When she blinked at him, confused, he smiled and patted her upper arm lightly. “I did say ‘borrow’.”

Yggdra stared down at the sword in her hands, then turned back towards Nessiah to say—what, she wasn’t sure—but he’d already passed her, reclaiming his robe and spellbook from Kylier.

“This should even things up a bit, yes?” he said. When he tilted his head to look back at her, his lips were curled faintly in something like complacence.

“Th-that was…” Yggdra shook her head. “But how did you…”

“There will be time for questions and explanations later,” Nessiah said, cutting her off decisively. “I’m going to fight, but there’s something all of you need to do for me.”

Taken aback—again—Yggdra blinked, then nodded. “A-alright, what is it?”

“Gather your wounded and run. Get back to Ancardia—inside the Great Temple, if you can. Wait there, and as soon as I can I’ll start the spells that will send you back to the human world. I can’t guarantee that it will happen swiftly, of course, but…”

“What th—are you _serious?!”_ Milanor demanded. “You want us all to just _run away?”_

Nessiah cocked his head and frowned, refastening the top clasp of his robe with nimble fingers. “Not that I don’t admire your spirit, but… do you really know what you’re going up against, boy? Asgard spares nothing in its own defense; each guardian of Heaven’s Gate is an elite warrior even by angelic standards. None of you stand a chance against her; she’s beyond anything you’ve ever faced before. My own task will be made several times more difficult if I must shield you from stray spells and the like.”

“Nessiah.” White-faced, Gulcasa reached out and laid a heavy hand on the fallen angel’s shoulder. “You’re telling us to get to safety, but _what about you?”_

Nessiah hesitated, but gently pried the emperor’s gauntleted fingers away. “…I’ll catch up with you later. It’s alright; you needn’t worry. She can’t do me any lasting harm… you know that.”

“No,” Gulcasa said. “You can’t tell me to abandon you after the stunt you just pulled.”

Nessiah made a soft impatient noise. “I will allow you to complain to me only after you have escaped from this place safely. If you stay here with me, all that will accomplish is your corpse next to mine. And the last time I checked, only one of us will come back when he dies.”

Frustration and worry wrestled on Gulcasa’s face, but he didn’t say anything as Nessiah opened his spellbook and began to walk back towards the irate Marietta in slow steps.

“Um—Nessiah…” Yggdra called, twisting her hands in her skirts.

He halted and glanced back at her, questioning.

“Why—why are you doing all this…? I thought…”

“Believe me, it wasn’t exactly easy to hand that sword back to you. And I would like little better than to take this battle much further. But I have no intention of dragging Gulcasa into my revenge and getting him killed.” He shook his head. “And at any rate, I promised you, didn’t I? I want to see the world you say you’re going to create. I want to see if you’ll be the one who can finally do it. For now… I’ll do what I can to make sure you get your chance. Now go, little queen. See your people safe.”

Yggdra could think of nothing to say as he walked away.

Perhaps he was right—perhaps she would do well to start getting her men to safety. Biting her lip, she knelt down to where Flone was working steadily at Roswell.

He was still struggling, still trembling, still taking in air raggedly. Rosary had his head and shoulders in her lap, and was tightly holding his hand; she was wearing the look of one trying her hardest not to cry. Seeing the blood still running from Roswell’s glassy, half-closed eyes and the corner of his mouth, Yggdra couldn’t fault her.

“Listen… I’m not ordering a full retreat, not yet, but… Nessiah was right that we should at least get the wounded out of here. Can we—”

Flone shook her head vehemently. “I’m sorry, Princess, but we can’t do that. If we were to move Roswell now, when he’s unstable—if I were to stop working on him for even a moment at this time, we would lose him; I won’t be able to keep up with the damage to his body. Roswell stays here.”

Yggdra bit her lip hard and squeezed her eyes shut, then stood up. “You heard her, everyone—and if Roswell stays, at least some of us have to stay here to protect him. But if anyone wishes to get to safety…”

“If Roswell stays, then we _all_ stay,” Mistel said firmly. “You know us better than to think we could abandon one of our own when he’s like this.”

Taking a deep breath, Yggdra nodded. “Alright. Alright, everyone. Thank you. But be ready for anything; we can’t know what we’re supposed to expect.”

 

 

Nessiah halted a good ten yards from Marietta and held out his hands over his spellbook. _She’s top caliber, that’s for certain—so there’s no point in holding back even the slightest bit. We’ll have to take this at full strength from the beginning…_

Easily, he slipped into the half-trance of summoning, feeling the deep connection with his second self take hold. The self-contract with his anima hadn’t been easy to establish, and the Chains of Conviction always seemed to get a little heavier when he used their magic, but—what choice did he have? With Gulcasa behind him, and that girl, and all the others there _depending_ on him…

“Forbidden to live, unable to die…”

Recently lost souls gathered to him, clamoring for the touch of his magic. Here in the thinness of the half-heavenly, half-mortal borderline of Heaven’s Gate, they were easier than ever to reach.

“…Thy punishment is to transmigrate eternally…”

The souls took shape as shadows, but with his magic behind them they would still be dangerous enough. Nessiah held up his hands to complete the spell, but jerked back as he saw that Marietta was rushing towards him low to the ground, her wings spread wide and flat.

“Flans Paries Aeria—”

That was as far as he got before she pulled up sharply and raised her staff with a cry, sending bold gold deathbolts raining down on him. Instinctively, Nessiah shrank back, shielding his face with his arms; the half-formed bubble of air strained and burst all around him, banishing the souls he’d called back towards death, but the protection lasted just long enough to dispel the strikes that aimed for him.

Knowing he would have no time to recover, Nessiah was up and running the moment his barrier broke. “Tortured angel, light stolen from thine eyes and flight from thy wings, rain thy curse down upon mine enemy —”

Marietta held up her wrists and crossed them before her face. “A.S. Shield activated!”

And as Nessiah watched, unbelieving and furious, his spell broke around her, not doing her the least harm at all.

“Tch—”

Light burst before him, and with it, pain.

 

 

Yggdra just stared, eyes wide with horror, unable even to scream. Nessiah lay gasping, straining to move, as Marietta walked coldly, casually up to him, then bent down and grasped the collar of his robes. In one jerk, she hauled him upright, and had him straining on his toes as she tightened her grip.

“Your resistance hasn’t been without merit, but it is over. Bound as you are, you should’ve known better than to delude yourself that you could equal me in combat…”

Beside her, Yggdra saw Gulcasa’s gauntleted hands bunch into fists, watched as he gritted his teeth and began to shake with—worry? Fear? Suppressed rage?

“But for the glory of our peaceful Asgard, it ends here. I shall do what should have been done eons ago, and put you out of your—”

That was as far as she got, because suddenly Gulcasa was crashing into her, sending the blade of his scythe in a wild arc that sent her sliding back, dropping Nessiah hard to sprawl against the wasted ground. He didn’t follow up the attack, just stood there bristling and menacing between the angel and her prey with nothing short of sheer battle madness in his eyes.

On the ground, Nessiah groaned and pushed himself up, looking up towards Gulcasa and shaking his head. “Y-you… you _fool,_ I told you to run…! No matter what she does to me, you _know—”_

“Shut up.”

Nessiah fell silent.

“How dare you, how _fucking_ dare you just stand there and _order_ me to abandon you like that! I refuse to go anywhere—I refuse to let you stand alone! I refuse to let you suffer any more than this—doing anything other than fighting at your side would be a betrayal of everything I’ve lived for! I’ve already lost you twice, and I won’t just stand there and lose you a third time!”

“Gulcasa—”

“Maybe alone, I can’t defeat her—but neither can you. If we fight together, though, we can finish this. Don’t waste time arguing, just take my hand and get up. You’re one of mine, Nessiah. You always will be. And as long as you are, we stand together!”

So saying, he held out his hand.

Yggdra watched in a kind of awe as Nessiah reached out a little hesitantly, as Gulcasa clasped his hand firmly and helped him to his feet.

Something—she wasn’t sure what it was—took hold in her heart, and before she could think twice, she was up and running towards them, clutching the hilt of the Holy Sword tightly. There were more footfalls behind hers, and she recognized Milanor’s gait but didn’t stop to try to discourage him.

“What are you two—?!” For someone less composed than Nessiah, Yggdra would’ve called that a yelp; for him, she just gave allowance for his surprise and smiled.

“I’m here for her, not for you,” Milanor growled, avoiding looking at Nessiah as his face flushed bright red. “So don’t get used to it.”

“I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do, but if we can help at all…” Yggdra said breathlessly, looking from Nessiah to Gulcasa and back.

“But—” Nessiah began, but stopped when Gulcasa gently rapped armored knuckles against his forehead.

“The proper phrase for this situation is ‘thank you’,” Gulcasa told him with a smile.

To Yggdra’s amusement, Nessiah’s face flared soft pink. He shook his head slightly before saying “…then, thank you…” softly.

“Come one or come one hundred, it still makes no difference,” Marietta snarled. “You will never defeat me—your threat will never reach our beloved Asgard!”

“Maybe that would be true if you were facing someone who didn’t understand what they were up against, but…” Nessiah shook his head. “Alright. If you all are determined to fight alongside me, then listen carefully. This Marietta that we’re fighting is completely invulnerable to Skills and powerful impact magic, at least for the time being. And as you’ll notice, she heals preternaturally quickly—Gulcasa struck her full-on and she’s already got barely more than a scratch.”

“Then, how are we to…?”

“Listen, I said.” Nessiah shook his head. “It’s going to be long, difficult, and likely very painful, but there _is_ a way. Marietta’s personal defense systems are controlled by mechanisms in her bracelets called the A.S. Shield and the H.P. Management System. The A.S. Shield is maintained by her level of life energy and protects her from powerful attacks; the Management System converts her life energy into healing magic to automatically repair any damage to her body. But when her life energy has been sufficiently drained, the A.S. Shield will transmute into a less powerful shield to preserve what power she has left, and she’ll become vulnerable to the strongest impact attacks like the little queen’s Jihad card. We just have to hold her off until then.”

“Yeah, an’ how do you know all this stuff?” Milanor asked suspiciously.

“Because I was the one who originally developed this technology for Asgard,” was Nessiah’s casual reply. “They have a lot of nerve, using it against me, but the fact that they have will be the downfall of Marietta, at least.”

“It sounds like a plan,” Gulcasa said with a grim smile. “Is everyone ready, then?”

Milanor snorted. “I was ready before I was _born.”_

“Yes…” Yggdra bit her lip. “Everyone, be careful. Remember what she did to Roswell with only one strike… we can’t allow that to happen to us.”

They turned towards Marietta, who was spinning her staff and gathering power to it as she did so with a wild look in her eyes.

“Your hubris has taken you this far, but no further! Disappear from this earth, mortal fools!”

“Wait for it,” Nessiah said softly. “If you run now she’ll still hit you… wait until she prepares to strike to dodge it…”

“I don’t need you lecturin’ me,” Milanor hissed back, but he tensed just as Yggdra and Gulcasa did, sinking down into a wary stance with Silver Moon bristling.

And as Marietta raised her staff and the four of them would have scattered, there was a sound like a mountain’s being rent in two and a white-red glyph exploded on the bare ground between the angel and her intended victims.

Yggdra sank down to run, but stopped when she saw that Marietta was flinching back as well, her face contorted with shock and frustration. And realized that there someone standing at the glyph’s center.

“I will not _tolerate_ any interruptions now!” Marietta shouted, and flung lightning at the newcomer the way she had at Roswell.

But this person—this angel, or whoever they were—just held up a hand and began to speak.

“Τὸ συμβόλαιον διακονῆτω μοί, ο τύραννε φλογός! Ἐπιγενηθήτω, φλόξ καθάρσεως, ῥομφαία φλογίνη! Ῥευσάντων πῦρ καί θεῖον, ἇ ἐπέφλεγον Σόδομα, ἁμαρτωλούς, εἰς χοῦν θανάτου! Οὐρανία Φλόγωσις!”

Fire roared up around the person in their glyph, and Marietta’s magic was swallowed by the heat and died before it got within three feet of them.

Marietta’s brow came down, and her cheeks went bright red. “How _dare—”_ she began, then stopped as the light of the glyph vanished and the new arrival blurred and reappeared right before her.

“Settle _down,”_ an irritated female voice proclaimed. “If the lot of you cause any more racket, I won’t be the only one coming down to investigate—and you risk destroying this entire sector of Heaven’s Gate if you set off any more fireworks. And you do know that the others aren’t lenient towards angels at all. You’ll risk getting sundered your own self if you keep this up.”

Marietta’s eyes were huge, and her face dead white with shock. She dropped her staff, letting it clatter on the ground, and bowed her head.

“I apologize, my lady—I would never thought that you would come yourself. I am grateful, of course, for your assistance; now that you are here, this will be finished in a matter of—”

“Be _quiet,_ I said,” the woman snapped. Marietta flinched.

“Yes, Lady Celina!”

“Did she say Celina…?” Nessiah breathed from beside Yggdra, disjointed astonishment and disbelief plain in his voice.

The woman turned, letting Yggdra get her first good look at her.

She was considerably smaller in stature than Marietta, but no less impressive. She sat in midair with one leg propped over the other, red robes billowing about her body; her face was hidden under their deep cowl, with only her dark red hair and the unremarkable lower half of her face visible. Something—some great detached fabric covered in swirling, eye-burning patterns—hovered above the woman’s back as if in imitation of wings, but she had none of her own. If not for the choking intensity of her aura, Yggdra would have thought of her as human.

When she turned towards the Royal Army that aura made Yggdra flinch, but her mouth bowed in what was unmistakably a smile.

“It seems like I made it in time to stop things from getting too out of hand.”

Beside Yggdra, Nessiah shook his head again. “Celina? Is that—is that really you?”

“Well, who else do you think it would be?” she said lightly. “All seven of us were made immortal just like you—though it’s a privilege and not a punishment in our case. I don’t think my looks have changed that much in the past thousand-odd years.”

“No,” Nessiah said. He sounded winded. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Nessiah just shook his head.

“And you’re not tapped-out or anything?” the woman called Celina urged.

Nessiah shook his head again, mutely.

“That’s always good to hear. And you humans? Nobody dead over there?”

Yggdra blinked, then shook her head. “N-no…”

“At least you won’t be getting in any trouble over massacring innocent mortals,” Celina said to Marietta. “It would have been pretty unfortunate if you had, given that unlike _some_ people I could name, I actually uphold the gods’ non-interference policies when it comes to other worlds.”

“B-but… um, my lady…? One of our own was badly hurt when we first confronted Ms. Marietta, and…” Yggdra continued timidly. When Celina looked back at her, that sense of deadly intensity made her flinch.

“I guess we’re holding that thought right now, Marietta,” Celina said with a light tone that did not match what Yggdra could see of her expression at all. “Let me have a look at your injured party, then. Here’s to hoping that all of our luck will hold and we’re still in time to do something; otherwise we’re all in for a lot of very tedious red tape.”

Her head spinning, Yggdra gestured to the clustered knot of her soldiers behind them, who’d formed a circle around where Roswell lay. They parted to let her through, and Yggdra’s heart shot into her throat when she saw that her friend was almost completely limp in the protective circle of Rosary’s arms, and that he was as pale as Nessiah. He was still breathing, but his intake of air was uneven, and it rasped and rattled in his chest with each weak inhale and exhale. Flone was still bent over him, her face grim and shining with sweat, one hand on his shoulder and her other low on his chest, pressing down every few seconds or so in a steady rhythm.

There was a flash of sparks, and the strange person called Celina had appeared on Roswell’s other side. She bent lightly at the waist and knees to feel at his forehead and the side of his throat, then peeled back his eyelids. Leaning a little closer, Yggdra saw that Roswell’s eyes were impossibly dilated, so much so that his irises were barely a thin blue ring around the deep black of the pupils.

Celina shook her head. “He took a direct hit from her lightning magic, didn’t he. It’s a miracle he’s still alive right now; he must be especially tenacious, or just really attached to life. It’s a rare mortal that could take a blow like this without dying instantly.

“Most of his vital organs have shut down, and now his heart’s failing. There isn’t much time left.” She reached into the folds of her robe and produced a tall bottle of blue crystal, uncapping it. “This potion is the most powerful curative there is in this world or any other; just one sip can heal anything, even fatal wounds. I try to always have one of these on me, because you never know when they’ll be useful. When you’re a prominent figure in politics, your counterparts are always trying to stab you or poison you or something equally ridiculous, after all.

“Even if your friend here were conscious, there’s no way he could swallow it on his own. Someone needs to force him to—someone he trusts.”

“I’ll do it,” Rosary said, straightening up and briskly scrubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. Celina relinquished the bottle, and Rosary took a brisk pull from it before carefully leaning down and sealing her lips to Roswell’s. Yggdra watched, terrified, as she laid her hand along his throat and stroked with her thumb and first two fingers until the curve of Roswell’s larynx moved.

Sitting up, Rosary pressed the back of her hand to her lips and stared down at Roswell with eyes that glittered furiously.

In the space of a few agonizing seconds, Roswell’s breathing began to even out, and quieted considerably. Celina watched him for a moment, then turned her terrifying gaze on Flone.

“That’s enough. You don’t need to keep up the cardiac massage anymore; he’s out of immediate danger, and his recovery from here is in his own hands.”

Flone nodded and removed her hands, swaying when she sat up. Russell, who’d been standing behind her, put his hands on her shoulders to steady her with a concerned murmur.

Celina took her potion back from Rosary and stowed it away deliberately.

“That seems like a very convenient thing to have around,” Flone said mildly, wiping her forehead. Strands of hair had come loose from the braid she wrapped around her head and had been sticking to her skin. “I don’t suppose milady would be willing to share the recipe?”

“Even if it wouldn’t be breaking a few dozen laws to pass Asgardian technology into human hands,” Celina replied just as mildly, “I don’t think it’d do you any good. A lot of the ingredients used in these can’t be found in predominantly human worlds.”

“Ah. That is quite a shame, but thank you anyway,” Flone said, bowing her head.

“You are very lucky, Marietta,” Celina said. There was another flash, and she was between Marietta and Yggdra’s party again. Yggdra could see the air where she’d been standing rippling with heat haze. “What were you _thinking,_ throwing magic strong enough to kill most demons at some hapless lost human? He could suffer from fragile health for years, even _decades_ because of this; I doubt his heart will ever be able to take much serious strain again. If he’d died… if any of these people had died… you would be up for a court-martial at the very least. Don’t you know who these humans are?”

Yggdra looked over to Marietta to see that the angel had stiffened, and was looking up at Celina with an incredulous, betrayed expression. “I only thought to protect Asgard from the likes of—”

Celina sighed and waved a hand at her. “Oh, be quiet. You may be ignorant and too quick to jump to conclusions, but you did mean well and that along with the fact that this human will live are the only two reasons why you’re not going to be sundered yourself.”

Marietta bristled, but was silent.

“Now.” Celina made a sweeping gesture with one arm and nodded to Yggdra. “Seeing as there was no time to introduce myself before: I am Celina, one of the Seven Magi. In Asgard, which you humans call heaven, we are the highest ranking existences other than the gods. We are their proxies. And I’ve been keeping tabs on your world for some time—since someone I knew is living there, you see.”

“You… have?” Yggdra blinked at her uncertainly.

“Yes, I have.” Celina nodded, all business. “That being the case, I have a message each for you and for the half-blood Gulcasa.”

Gulcasa stared at her. “What, me too?”

“Yes, you too. Like I said, I’ve been watching you, after all. And I don’t know that you actually fully understand the severity of what you’ve done to yourself. The demon god Brongaa may be in a recumbent state now, but I assure you that this will not last for very long. It will drain your energy to sustain itself and gather power, and my guess is that in the end it will start fighting you for control of your body. You’re of Brongaa’s lineage yourself, so I would expect you to have some familiarity with what Brongaa’s desires are. Now that you’ve become its receptacle and its seal has been broken, it’s going to use you and use you until there’s nothing left of you.

“Asgard generally has a policy to not interfere with mortal affairs unless the risk is great enough. Regarding Brongaa’s initial appearance in your world, humans dealt with it before we could, so no one looked into the matter too deeply. But if you can’t contain Brongaa properly—if the demon actually makes a full revival through you—I really doubt that Asgard will pass you over again. So, I’d suggest looking into a way to make sure you’ll have control, unless you want _scaaaaary_ people coming down from Asgard and making some drastic decisions for our own safety’s sake.”

Gulcasa paled at her words, but nodded grimly. “I understand.”

“Oh, and aside from that…” Celina smiled and tilted her head in Nessiah’s direction. “You look after—it’s Nessiah now, isn’t it? Look after him. Keep him out of trouble. He’s already been the subject of one big political mess in Asgard. He could probably do without attracting any more negative attention than he already has.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” was Gulcasa’s easy reply. “If you’ve been watching us, you should know what he means to my country, and to me personally. As long as I’m alive, you don’t have to worry about him.”

Nessiah went red. “Gulcasa…”

“I appreciate that.” Celina shook her head, then turned gracefully back to Yggdra. “And as for you, Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz, thirty-second sovereign of Fantasinia…”

Yggdra’s mouth went dry. “Yes…?”

“While you have done no wrong to Asgard or to the angels, Marietta _is_ right that the Gran Centurio poses a serious threat to not just our peace, but the peace of all the worlds everywhere. You’ve seen what it can do firsthand—human forces can’t possibly stand against it, and by now it’s attained enough power to be able to slay angels. Very soon now, if it’s continued to be used for combative purposes, it will be strong enough to kill a god.

“Even if _you_ decided to put it aside or use it for purposes other than slaughter, its next holder would surely keep wielding it as a weapon. It’s been too deeply ingrained in your people’s mythology of entitlement and oppression. This can’t go on; your world has been strained to its limits. You’ve begun to dream of a world of peace, but no such world can exist while Fantasinia holds this kind of brute, absolute force over the heads of other nations to coerce them to submit. Those methods breed fear and resentment, and other countries may do what Bronquia has done and decide that absolute power or no, they can bow their heads to you no longer.

“Hear now the judgment of Asgard: Draw thy blade for eternal sin, else lay thine edge to rest. You are human, Queen Yggdra; you, like all other living beings, possess free will. Now that you’ve heard what we have to say, the ultimate choice is up to you.”

Yggdra stared wide-eyed at Celina, then glanced at Marietta, then down at the Gran Centurio.

She looked at Nessiah for some cue, some indication of his opinion, but he made a bitter face and said nothing.

So she looked down at the Gran Centurio again, and thought about it.

Finally, she drew a long, slow breath. “Draw thy blade for eternal sin… or lay thine edge to rest… Then—” She bowed her head. “I think we all know what this means, don’t we? If I were to declare that the gods were wrong and that the Gran Centurio was the right of the Artwaltz family, I would condemn myself and everyone who stands with me out of loyalty. Even if I were just to keep it and take it back to the human world… Lady Celina is right; no good would ever come of it. For as long as this sword remains in human hands, it will continue to be drenched in blood…

“So, for that reason… to prevent such tragedies from continuing…” Yggdra took another deep breath and closed her eyes. “I hereby… by my authority as Queen of Fantasinia… and on behalf of all humanity… I relinquish my ownership of the Gran Centurio.”

“Yggdra…!” Milanor sounded awed.

“This sword,” Yggdra continued, “will never again be used by human hands. Its power is too great for us to wield without becoming drunk on it. If it’s possible… I would like for it to be sealed somewhere here, in Heaven’s Gate, where no one will be able to reach it. Never again will Fantasinia rule by force. Instead, we will rule with empathy… with kindness and understanding and diplomacy, and the wisdom granted to us by the gods.”

Celina reached out silently, and Yggdra held out the Gran Centurio.

“The gods hear your oath, human sovereign,” she said gravely, “and they honor it. The powers of the Gran Centurio are hereby sealed for eternity. This sword will never be used again.”

A strange sensation, similar to the pins-and-needles discomfort of blood deprivation, shot up Yggdra’s arms to her elbows, and she drew her arms back. As soon as her fingers left the hilt of the sword, the feeling stopped.

There was a pained hiss from behind her. Yggdra turned to see that Nessiah was hunched over with his face in a tight grimace, clutching his chest.

Gulcasa was there even before Yggdra could take her first step, supporting Nessiah with both hands. “Nessiah?! Are you alright?”

“The Gran Centurio is a part of me,” Nessiah said, voice low and fevered. “That sword was the only hope I ever had of righting the wrongs done upon me. Sever it from me, and of course I will be in pain.” He raised his head, staring straight at Celina. “I do not know what your intentions are. I don’t think that it is coincidence, that you have shown up here at a breach of Heaven’s Gate. This isn’t a light undertaking, for one of your exalted status. I knew you once, Celina; I do not like to suspect you, but I would not insult you by assuming that you have no ulterior motive.”

Celina made a face. For a moment, she looked more like a girl near Yggdra’s own age than some awe-inspiring and frighteningly brisk heavenly figure. “It’s politics,” she said at last. “I can’t give you any better explanation than that, and I apologize. It’s safer for you not to know, I think. But because we were once friends—because I spoke against what happened to you—I hope you can at least believe me when I promise you that this is in your best interests. More has—happened in Asgard since your exile than you know, Nessiah.”

From the look on Nessiah’s face, he still seemed unhappy with the outcome, but he leaned against Gulcasa and flapped a hand in Celina’s direction. “You call me by the name that I choose. That at least indicates that you have respect for what I have gone through, politician though you might have become. That will have to be enough for me, for now.”

“As long as you’re not going to cause trouble.” Celina shrugged and smiled at Yggdra. “That can’t have been an easy thing to do… in a way, the Gran Centurio was a part of you, too, Queen Yggdra. You’ve relied on it, and it’s seen you through many trials. But you did the right thing, and Asgard honors you for it.” She held out a hand, and there was a shimmer, then a short and ornate staff—perhaps two and a half feet long—appeared in her palm. “Take this scepter as our gift, as something to replace the sword. I think it’s much more suited to you, and my hope is that it will become Fantasinia’s new symbol in the Gran Centurio’s place.”

Milanor whistled. “Man… I mean…” He turned and planted his hands on his hips proudly, beaming at the rest of the Royal Army. “Will you look at that? I guess we really _can’t_ call Yggdra a princess anymore… she really is a real queen now! Only the greatest leaders’re able to pick what’s best for the whole world like that.”

There were nods, and smiles, and then a ragged cheer through the ranks.

Yggdra reached out and took the scepter from Celina, smiling and blinking back tears. “Thank you, everyone,” she said softly, a little overwhelmed.

“You’re a good girl, and you’re going to make an excellent queen,” Celina said with a smile. “Alright—thank you for bearing with us; once you’ve returned to Ancardia, we will send it back down to the surface for you. It’s time for you to start changing the world… go with the blessings of the heavens.”

There were more cheers of Yggdra’s name, and she waved her hands, flustered, hiding her face in them but unable to conceal her blush.

“But… but all I did was what was best for all of you! That’s my responsibility… not just as a queen, but as someone who cares for you!”

There was a shove at her shoulder, and Yggdra looked up to see that Gulcasa was giving her a crooked smile and a pointed stare from where he stood half-supporting Nessiah.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he said mildly. “That’s exactly why you mean so much to them. That’s why they’re able to believe in you.”

“To be cared for is a significant, weighty thing,” Nessiah added, his voice still soft but gaining strength with every word. “I’ll be alright. We’ll _all_ be alright. As long as you are willing to join hands with others… as long as you are learning from those who have come before you, and still trying make those lofty ideals of yours a reality, no matter how hopeless it seems. You matter to them—” he gestured to the Royal Army “—to us—” and he glanced up to Gulcasa as if to confirm it before leaning against his friend as if to hide his face and adding in a near whisper, “…to your world.”

Yggdra stood silent as grateful tears gathered in her eyes. She couldn’t think of what she should say to that; she didn’t know if there was anything _to_ say. All she could do was bow her head and clasp her hands.

“Thank you all… so very, very much.”


End file.
